


Project Forging Chains

by Red Dragon (Red_Dragonn)



Series: Project Forging Chains [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (ish? ish), Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Bittersweet Ending, Body Horror, Brainwashing, Character Death, Decepticon Optimus Prime, Fuck the Senate, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Intrigue, M/M, Multi, Mystery, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Pre-War, Psychological Torture, Revenge, Revolution, Revolutionaries In Love, Self-Harm, Shadowplay (Transformers), Sign Language, Tags May Change, The Senate Is A Literal Oligarchy, Torture, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Unreliable Narrator, War, Wrongful Imprisonment, and orion is not used to actually debating with the oppressed class, bc megs is used to dealing with mechs who had to deal with, but for wrongful reasons, despite spending time with the Crew and agreeing with pacifist!megs, emotionally stunted idiots, megatron and orion have DISTINCTLY different methods of debate, megatron is a good tactician, offscreen death, or. rightful imprisonment, state sanctioned violence dressed up in pretty terms, you better believe thats coming back its one of my biggest hcs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 21:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 55,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14986316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Dragonn/pseuds/Red%20Dragon
Summary: Pre-war Megatron knows that going against the will of the Council is far from a safe or good idea, though he knows it's necessary. Even so, the gladiator-slash-political-dissident didn't expect quite this much attention from them.Because the Council is expanding on the Institute, and they need a suitable test subject...[AUTHOR'S NOTE: CURRENTLY ON HIATUS OF UNDETERMINED LENGTH. NOT ABANDONED. DM OR COMMENT ABOUT SPOILERS IF YOU GENUINELY CANNOT WAIT AND NEED TO KNOW WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN.]





	1. "I Will Break My Chains"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MlleMusketeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlleMusketeer/gifts).



They came for him at the single most inopportune time.

No, really.

Megatron was drifting in a haze of post-fight agony and exhaustion. Hook was doing something extraordinarily unpleasant to the joints of his left arm; he’d taken a nasty hit to the shoulder and evidently something had broken. The rest of him was mostly repaired, but his shoulder hurt plenty enough to keep him half in stasis now that he wasn’t in the middle of a battle. Vision hazy through dimmed optics, he lazily kept Hook in his field of view, but by now he knew the medic wouldn’t sabotage him. He could count on the mech’s greed to keep him online. Without Megatron, the star of the Arena, Hook would fall under suspicion…and so Megatron permitted himself to relax and surrender to the pain wracking his body.

He dimly registered a loud noise, and instantly onlined his optics properly. But he didn’t see anything, so he let himself drift once more.

And then a blur of motion jammed its way through the door, and another followed, and Megatron shook himself out of his stupor once more to gaze into the fully charged barrel of an Enforcer’s gun. 

Slag.

Hook made an absolutely pathetic noise, backing away from Megatron’s half-unwound shoulder and raising his servos in front of his chest as though that would save him from a blast from one of those guns. The other gladiators capable of motion also moved in varying states of efficiency. Megatron himself vented, ducked his head, and then flipped off the slab as best as he could. A blaster bolt hit the slab right where his head had been. Megatron had good instincts when it came to people trying to kill him—that hadn’t been the goal of these people. 

He didn’t mean to turn his back on them, though. There was no way that this was not meant to, at least, _hurt_ someone.

He crouched, feeling around for a weapon, and then ripped his own badge off of his necklace and shifted his grip so that he could use the bottom portion as a cutting edge while the enforcers fanned out into the room. He whirled, slashing down, and a blaster bolt took him in the side of the chest. It wasn’t fatal, and so Megatron gritted his dentae and ignored it, seeking only to kill whoever he could before they got him. 

That wasn’t to be, though.

Another pair of blaster bolts caught him through the hip and the shoulder, and Megatron dropped his badge. He moved to strike with the other arm, and remembered too late that it was disabled; he went off balance, instead, and a heavy pede came down on his throat before he could recover. Megatron twisted to throw the other off, fingers grasping at the enforcer’s boot, and a bolt from another’s blaster caught him in the side of the helm. 

Megatron slipped into stasis lock against his will. There wasn’t really another option. Even the greatest champion could be overcome if he were weakened, and this was the weakest they would ever find him. 

* * *

Megatron onlined his optics and found himself face down in a dingy cell that reeked of waste fluids and sour energon. Dark walls shone red with the light of the force field closing off the entrance. He raised his head to look around, discovered that he was alone, and stopped hiding the wince of pain that sitting up sent through his damaged shoulders and chest. His servos were, as could only be expected, cuffed behind his back, but the low ache of stasis cuffs were perfectly easy to ignore, so instead he rolled and got to his pedes carefully. 

How dare they do this! They come into _his_ arena while he’s weakened, while he can’t fight back, and they arrest him and throw him in a cell somewhere—how _dare they_? 

Megatron took a step forwards, and then another, and reached the end of the bare cell. He turned and paced back the other way. The damn cell was so small he had to stoop, but he couldn’t bear to just sit still. Blistering rage burned in his spark. How dare they bring him here, to this silent place?

_At least this cell is empty_ , some snide voice in Megatron’s processor said. _Imagine if you had to share it with someone?_

Megatron gritted his dentae and yanked at the stasis cuffs, solely managing the very dubious achievement of scraping his arms. Great. Slagging cuffs. He couldn’t even hit something properly.

Not like his arms were working properly, anyways. The wiring in one shoulder was still exposed, plating removed to allow for easy access to the circuitry beneath. Sparks jumped from torn edges. Thin, damaged energon lines leaked violet, viscous fluid across the various components of his arm and hardened, crusting over. His repair nanites had started on it, but the job there was far from done. 

The other blaster wounds were, by now, just aching dents in his flesh, but this injury to his shoulder was infuriating. 

“Hey!” he shouted at the empty corridor. “Come and face me! Stand and fight like real mechs, instead of the cowards you are!”

His voice echoed hollowly down the empty corridor.

“Do you hear me? I’ll destroy you!” Megatron roared. 

No response. 

He glared across the hall at the empty cell across from him, and then looked down the rows. 

This cell block was entirely empty, aside from him.

Damn this stupid slag to Mortilus. It didn’t matter. For Primus’s sake, he could be the only one on the damn _planet,_ and he would still free himself somehow. “I will be free! You can’t keep me,” Megatron raged. “I will not be kept! I will be free, and you will all regret it! I will make you into slag! You will regret the day you ever did this to me! I am Megatron of Tarn, greatest gladiator of Kaon, and _I will destroy you!_ ”

It was meant to be intimidating, but his voice echoed hollowly through the hallway and fell faint and weak on the eerie, empty cells. 

* * *

After fruitlessly yelling at what looked to be a mostly empty building for a solid ten kliks, Megatron whirled and kicked the forcefield with his pede solidly. The quick burst of pain didn’t do anything to him, but the forcefield was impervious to damage, and Megatron sighed, recognizing that this wasn’t a fight he could win, and kicked the wall instead, leaving a nice solid dent on both his toe and the wall. The metal was thick, but a few experimental hits proved that it would dent, though he had a hard time truly gouging it out with his hands behind his back. And doubtless there was a force field embedded in it somewhere.

Even so, it made Megatron’s fury abate for a moment, replaced with desperate hope. He tried to lever his servos in such a way that he could get at the wall, and solely succeeded in straining his shoulders unpleasantly. Half-congealed energon cracked on the ends of his severed energon lines and let his energon stores spurt across the cell wall. 

His time on Tarn had taught Megatron the value of energon, and so he gritted his dentae and abated, furiously sinking to sit on the floor. Almost without even thinking about it, he dug his fingers into the ground and began to carve something, angry words traveling from his spark to his processor to his hands just as they always did.

* * *

They came for him while he was in recharge, lying on the ground because there was no slab, curled into a ball out of instinct, optics still half onlined out of paranoia. A group of enforcers, faces inscrutable behind their visors and masks. The red partition of the force field was gone, and in the low light the cell looked especially eerie and unpleasant, like a scene out of a horror story or a nightmare. The blue glow of the mechs’ eyes mixed with the scarlet of the other force fields and cast a violet glow over everything. For a moment, Megatron was still asleep, dreaming of an unpleasant place drenched in a thin layer of energon.

And then Megatron startled awake, rapidly onlining his battle protocols and properly focusing his optics. In his mere nanokliks of disorientation, the mechs were on top of him, wrestling him down to his feet and down the hall ruthlessly. Exhausted as he was, he still thrashed and fought to escape their grip, but with his arms cuffed and his body suspended, there wasn’t much he could do. 

He was dragged down the hall and to what looked like a metallurgist’s workroom. The room was still just as dimly lit, electronics all offlined and supplies hanging dark and disused from the ceiling. Honestly, if Megatron had any choice in this, he wouldn’t ever have stepped foot in a metallurgist’s if it looked like this. He’d be worried about catching a rust infection.

The soldiers slammed him down onto the medical table and strapped him servo and pede to the table, rendering him immobile. Megatron spat curses and dark promises at them, but the enforcers never rose to the bait, and so Megatron eventually gritted his dentae, snarled one final time, and bade his time. What the hell was going on?

He waited in silence for a few kliks. The room’s dim red light was just starting to irritate Megatron when the lights came up suddenly, electronics whirring to life. An unfamiliar, buffed-shiny blue mech strode into the room, a sneer on his lips as he surveyed Megatron. This had to be the metallurgist. Megatron immediately hated him. “He needs to be made…presentable, I take it?” the mech drawled, sounding bored.

“Miner standard,” one of the enforcers agreed. “Preferably just a bit less shabby.” 

Megatron bared his dentae at the enforcer again. “I’m not _shabby_ , you two bit Iaconian aftpipe.”

Both of them ignored him flatly. “These dents need filling, then, hm?” the blue mech asked. “And repair the damage to the shoulder?”

“Cosmetic only,” the enforcer said quickly. “We don’t need him trying anything.”

“He’s cuffed,” the blue mech scoffed. “But anything that makes my life easier is good by me. Consider it done. Do you want me to anesthetize him, or…?”

“Have fun, Breakpoint,” the enforcer said. “That’s up to you.”

The blue mech—Breakpoint—raised his optic ridges curiously. “Does that mean you’ll leave us a bit of privacy?”

Megatron’s half empty tanks roiled. _Did this slagger actually…?_

“Orders are orders, Break,” the enforcer said, voice sounding just a bit disturbed. “I’m not to let him leave my sight. Just do your job.”

“You and your rules,” Breakpoint grumbled. “Right. Step back, please, lest I _slip_.”

Megatron really, _really_ didn’t want this fragging scrapheap anywhere near him, but it wasn’t as though he had a choice. “Do _not_ slip, damn you.”

Breakpoint ex-vented and reached up to find a tool, feeling around on a shelf behind him until he pulled out a sander. 

The tool was switched on. 

Then the metallurgist went to work.

* * *

Megatron looked down at his now-blank chestplate and fought the urge to sigh. He’d rather liked his red stripes. Were his servos free, he’d have felt at his face to see if his red face paint was truly gone; instead he merely stared at the metal walls balefully. It hadn’t even been a decacycle, and they’d unwillingly altered his root form’s design without his consent, forcing him to look more like the miner he’d once been. 

He’d left that life behind, slag it, and they seemed determined to bring it back.

His shoulder still ached and moved stiffly, though he hadn’t had much chance to test it due to the, you know, cuffs holding his arms behind his back. But it _looked_ perfectly fine, so he figured that had to be all that they fragging cared about. Oh, the prisoner’s in pain? Who cares, right? Oh, our precious Primal cybertronian society is falling apart at the seams? Long as it looks nice, who slagging cares? It was enough to make Megatron _sick_.

He traced his fingers over the words on the floor, and then gritted his dentae and added some more.

* * *

They stunned him this time before they stepped into the cell, and from his vantage point of on the floor, Megatron could see the enforcers glance down at him with their unreadable faces. “Pick him up for me, would you?” one of them barked at the other, and then Megatron was being lifted into the air, and slowly control of his body returned to him as the shorts were processed out of his circuits. 

He got control of his optics back just long enough to see the glowing blue and steely gray, polished floor of the Senate. Not that Megatron, a lowly miner, had ever been here before. He’d seen pictures, though.

These mechs here, these were his enemies. Not any of the fraggers he’d ever faced in the pits, nor any of the fraggers he’d faced in Tarn at all. These fragging high class bots, sitting in their fragging senate, lording it over any mech that they didn’t think was _good enough_ or _proper enough_ for a decent life. These were the bots that consigned him to a life of running on empty. These were the bots that considered mechs like Megatron disposable. 

These were Megatron’s enemies, and he hated that they would ever see him weak.

He lifted his helm, taking in the arena style seating so similar to the gladiator pits of Kaon, filled not with the ravenous, blood-thirsty masses of the Kaonite spectators, but with the ravenous, blood-thirsty senators of Cybertron. 

“ _I will one day destroy this place,_ ” he hissed, and he meant it. The enforcer half dragging him on the ground didn’t even acknowledge the words, which Meatron figured was for the best. At the moment, it wasn’t as though he could really fight back.

At the moment.

He did, however, manage to unsteadily get to his pedes when they stopped, venting deeply, trying to compose himself to put up against whatever the Senate wanted, when rough hands on his shoulders forced him to the ground. He landed hard on his knees with a clang that echoed through the room like a drum. 

_I will not kneel before these murderers_ , Megatron thought, and forced himself to his pedes, only to be forced down again, harder. “Stay down, frag you,” one of the enforcers snapped. 

“This is the prisoner? The writer?” one senator or another, Megatron didn’t care to know whom said. 

“Megatron of Tarn, yes,” another said. “Senator Sentinel, your plans regarding the prisoner…?”

“Will be discussed at a later date,” the first speaker—Sentinel—said curtly. “This…rabblerouser will be the first in a line of very useful tools, make no mistake, Senator Widebeam.”

Megatron growled and got to his pedes again, ignoring the warnings in his hud and the knowledge that he was, in fact, definitely going to get shoved down once more. “I am no tool!”

The Sentinel huffed, and then smirked at him cruelly. “You have never been anything but a tool, Megatron of Tarn.”

The enforcer moved behind Megatron, and he braced himself, but one of the other senators shook their head. “Remove him to his cell, please.”

Megatron would have complied this time, just to get out of the fragging senate room, but the enforcers made that choice unnecessary. He was stunned again before they carried him out of the room, and when he onlined properly, he was back inside his cell with nothing but scuffed-up knees to prove that it had ever happened.

* * *

Megatron took a deep breath, staring out at the dark metal of the cell walls around him. His arms chafed in the stasis cuffs holding them behind his back. His knees were scuffed from where they’d forced him to kneel. 

For some reason, the scrapes on his finish, though far from unusual, made Megatron more angry than anything else they’d done to him so far. So he was in a cell. So he was cuffed. They’d fucked up his knees forcing him to _kneel,_ to debase himself,as though he were a happy worshiper of the false doctrines and dictates that ruined his and his people’s lives. The Functionist Council could get slagged. They’d fucked up his knees.

His internal chronometer informed him that it had been about half a decacycle. Had all gone well, and he hadn’t been, well, arrested, Megatron would have released another set of his speeches in a cycle or two, after the fight that was supposed to be held today. Instead he languished in a cell with scuffed knees and empty tanks. 

He’d been white-hot with fury for the first megacycle. For the second megacycle, he’d cooled down some, and spent the time far more bored than enraged. And now?

Now, Megatron was starting to register the cold, liquid feeling in his spark that came just before any fight he wasn’t sure he’d win.

He was afraid.

With a sigh, Megatron turned his head to stare over his shoulder and ran his servos over the graffiti he’d carved into the floor when he’d first been thrown into this place. Artless, clumsy glyphs in his artless, clumsy handwriting. He was a fighter, not an artist, and he’d carved it with fingers too thick to make the shapes look nice. It was legible, and that was all that mattered.

Would they just leave him here to rust?

* * *

A full decacycle passed. Megatron had gone from angry to bored to scared and moved past that right into numb boredom again. Nothing was happening. There was nothing to do. His pacing had started to wear a divot into the floor. 

He’d had to stop that as of late, of course.

Had to conserve energon.

Because they weren’t feeding him. Why would they _bother_ to feed a troublesome miner-turned-gladiator-turned-political-dissident if they could just let his spark fade for lack of energon? No doubt they thought they were very clever. What an easy way to make their problems disappear. All they had to do was let him die, and then they could even claim it wasn’t intentional. They’d just forgotten, of course. 

Megatron wondered idly if anyone had even gone looking for him. Doubtless Soundwave had, and likely still was. But anyone else? Had they noticed? Did they care?

He ran his servos over the floor blindly until he found the glyphs he’d carved into it when he still thought he’d be getting out. Traced the letters with his hands. His offlined optics—got to conserve energon—couldn’t see them, so he’d feel it instead, and let the unchanging strength of his earlier words embolden him. 

* * *

Two decacycles. Megatron wasn’t bothering to keep many of his systems online by now, let alone his audials or optics in the silent, unchanging room, and so when he first felt servos pulling at his shoulders he didn’t register them. He onlined his unfocused optics to see the blurry outlines of the implacable mask and visor of an enforcer. No one Megatron recognized—it was a new set of cops, then. He turned his head; there was another behind him.

Megatron’s empty tanks pinged warnings at him that he’d long been ignoring.

The enforcers silently went to drag him out of the room, and the tip of Megatron’s pede caught on the raised edges of the words he’d carved into the floor at the beginning of his imprisonment. 

They dragged him away, but Megatron looked back to see it shining in the low light one last time. 

_You will be destroyed. I will break my chains and you will be overcome._

* * *

They dragged him before the council again. They shoved a single cube of energon into Megatron’s hands and forced him, again, to his knees. He made to lift his head and the enforcer on his right snatched the cube from his starvation-weakened servos. “Bow, _filth_ , and you get your precious energon back,” the enforcer snapped. Megatron weighed his options—his dignitiy, or his life?—and then slowly inclined his head, training his optics on the floor.

“Good mech,” the enforcer purred, and held the cube out again.

Megatron snatched it and, this time, drained it in one quick gulp. He heard the enforcer to his left chuckle. 

How he wished to tear off their faceplates and bash their faces to shattered wrecks beneath his fists. But he knew it was hopeless, and so he knelt on the floor of the Senate, and he waited.

“Megatron of Tarn,” one of the councilors said, voice laden with condescension. Megatron had never bothered to learn who was who, and so all he knew was that this was one of many mechs with too much power and too much arrogance than could possibly be good for anyone other than themselves. ”You have disobeyed the will of Primus and defied your path in life . You have attempted to tempt others to follow in your sinful footsteps. You have attempted to seduce others to follow your evil rhetoric. Is this not true?”

Megatron raised his optic ridges, though he kept his gaze fixed on the floor. He didn’t want to tempt the enforcers to do something to him that he couldn’t fight off. “Is this meant to be some mockery of a trial?”

One of the enforcers hit him over the back of the helm with something, and Megatron winced as his optics shorted out for a moment. 

“Megatron of Tarn, you stand accused of these heinous crimes,” the unnamed senator snapped. “Are the charges true?”

Megatron attempted to lift his head and received another brutal blow to the back of the helm instead. “Frag you!”

An angry rumble went around the room.

“Admit your guilt,” the senator snarled at Megatron. 

Megatron gritted his dentae, bracing for the blow he knew would come. He glared at the senate floor. “The things I’m accused of— _you_ are the guilty ones!”

This time, the blow to his helm was hard enough to send Megatron sprawling to the floor. He clawed himself up, but a pede planted firmly on the back of his neck stopped him from being able to get much higher than his hands and knees in his weakened state. Fury rolling in his spark, Megatron tried to force himself up anyway, and instead caught the full force of the other enforcer’s pede in his chestplate. He went reeling, reflexes slowed after his imprisonment and energon still dangerously low, and his optics shorted out again briefly. “Frag you,” he snarled again, and was forced face down on the ground by the two enforcers. 

Had he been properly fueled, he could have torn them all to pieces and made them into slag. But for now, he knew when he was beat, and though it made his plating crawl with revulsion, he also knew when he had to give up. 

His dignity or his life. 

He chose life. He would overcome this. And when he did, they would all pay. 


	2. The Right of All Cybertronians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orion Pax, follower of the writer `Kaon's Voice`, is starting to worry about the fact that his favorite political dissident hasn't posted anything in like a month.
> 
> Soundwave, follower of the political dissident Megatron of Tarn, also known as `Kaon's Voice`, feels much the same way...and he figures that his fledgeling Decepticon movement could use an enforcer on their side. Especially one with contacts in the Senate itself.
> 
> (note: i got the inspiration for Megatron's screen name from [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat), who's really good, check out their fics; i love love love [Victory Condition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272438?view_full_work=true) to death)

_Project FC, log four, 7/21_

_The prisoner is still openly hostile. Recommend further measures. Perhaps removing use of arms or legs temporarily. Senators M and SW claim that the project is immoral and must be canceled. Commander SN and Senator PR inform us that we will have whatever funding we need. Subject_ _Alpha-1 should not require too many resources during this phase of the procedure, which will make this much easier. Commander SN has not yet delivered a deadline, which is both good and bad news._

_Phase One of the procedure is progressing slowly but steadily._

_End log_

* * *

Orion Pax checked his datapad somewhat hopelessly. It had been a decacycle and a half since `Kaon’s Voice` had released anything, and Orion was starting to worry about the safety of his favored political dissident. Not that he could ever try to find out what happened through legal means. Even for someone like him, it was far from safe to look into the wellbeing of someone who, effectively, wanted to destroy the Senate. Good mechs had been imprisoned or empurataed, or worse, offlined, for far less. Just because Orion wanted to make a change didn’t mean that he _could_. 

He still tried to make a difference as much as he could, in every _way_ he could. 

It was slow going. 

With a brief ex-vent, he noted with no small dose of resignation that `Kaon’s Voice` hadn’t uploaded anything, again, and stretched before subspacing his datapad and heading out to the station. He had a job to do if he wanted to keep his head up. Especially if they were going around and arresting dissidents. 

He didn’t need any of his…less legal involvements with Senator Shockwave to draw any unnecessary attention, after all.

* * *

There was a large blue and silver mech with a red visor waiting for Orion just outside the doors of the enforcer’s building. “Orion Pax,” he intoned. Orion glanced over at him. “Yes?”

“You will come with me,” the mech said, and it was not a question. 

Instantly fearing for the worst, Orion onlined his combat protocols, his fans whirring in surprise and a sudden shock of fear. “Why?”

“You are looking for `Kaon’s Voice`,” the mech said, musical voice sending another cold jerk of fear through Orion. “I am not going to harm you. But it is not safe here, and we can use your help.”

Interestingly enough, that didn’t calm Orion down whatsoever. “The first thing you would tell me if you meant to drag me off into a cell somewhere is that you weren’t going to hurt me,” he pointed out, voice steady as ever. “Who sent you?”

“I sent myself,” the mech said. “For your help. You will help me find Megatron.”

“Megatron?” Orion asked, raising an optic ridge. The name struck him as familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Megatron of Tarn, the Kaonite gladiator,” the blue mech said. “Also known as `Kaon’s Voice`.”

Orion restarted his audials in surprise. “You want me to help you find `Kaon’s Voice`?”

“Megatron,” the mech corrected. “His designation is Megatron. And he was arrested two decacycles ago.”

Orion vented deeply and then nodded. “Right. What is your designation?”

“Soundwave,” the mech said. “You do not need to introduce yourself. I know who you are, Orion Pax. Will you come with me?”

Orion nodded again, extending a servo. “Lead the way, Soundwave.”

* * *

Soundwave led Orion out of Rodion and into the dark confines of Polyhex’s Dead End, not far from Ratchet’s clinic. And then out of Polyhex entirely and into someplace Orion didn’t recognize. They’d been walking for a full cycle and a half. Orion needed to actually go to the station at some point; he didn’t want a demerit on his badge. His job was already hard enough as it was without the authorities watching over his shoulder to make sure he did everything according to the rulebook. “How long will it take to get where we’re going?”

“Some time,” Soundwave said. “But it is important. Your job will be secure when we return, Orion Pax.”

 _How does he know that I was worried about that_? “Are you certain? Where are we now?”

“I’m a telepath,” Soundwave said dryly. 

Orion suppressed a shudder and instead turned his attention to the dirty streets instead. “Where are we?

“Kaon,” Soundwave said.

Orion took that in and then studied the buildings more carefully. This is where `Kaon’s Voice` lived, where he wrote from, where his words came out of. Soundwave led him on at the same pace, but suddenly Orion felt as though he should slow down and take it all in.

As they kept walking, and kliks kept passing, Orion started to worry again. “Where are we going?”

“Just follow me,” Soundwave said, not even looking back. “I will explain everything where it’s safe to.”

Orion Pax ex-vented and kept going. 

* * *

Soundwave came to a stop at the foot of a dilapidated, pitch-dark building with broken windows and sagging doors. The mech motioned towards the door.

 _“This_ is safer than the precinct?”

“No one is listening, here,” Soundwave said flatly. “The eyes of the senate do not reach this far down. Are you going to come in?”

Orion glanced up at the dingy building and felt his combat protocols start to online spontaneously. “Is there anyone inside?”

“Yes,” Soundwave said. “All loyal Decepticons.”

Orion fought the urge to cock his head. “Decepticons after the line from `Kaon’s v`—uh, Megatron’s speeches?”

 _“You are being deceived,”_ Soundwave quoted. “Yes. We use Megatron’s works,his speeches and his writings, as the basis for what we hope to bring about. Change. Freedom for all Cybertronians, not just those with ‘acceptable’ alt modes. A better world for all of us.”

Orion studied the building again. “And this is your base of operations?”

“Far from it,” Soundwave said. “But it is safe. _Would_ you enter?”

Orion shuttered his optics for a moment and made up his mind. “Of course.”

He opened his optics again and pushed the damaged door aside to step into the dark building. 

To his surprise, the doorway led onto a dim hallway, and this hallway was in a state far from the disrepair of the building’s face. Though the repairs were clearly done with scrap and cheap supplies, it was obvious that whatever mech had done it knew precisely what they were doing. Soundwave behind him, Orion walked down the wide hall and opened another door at the end, to see a well-lit meeting room. Mech were seated around a round table, fliers and manual-class bots and minibots all sitting in close vicinity. Decepticons all. 

Orion could see the appeal. 

When he stepped into the room, all eyes immediately went to him, optics hard and suspicious. He raised a servo in greeting uncomfortably, but he understood where they were likely coming from. He was an enforcer, the hand of the Senate and the Council. His appearance must have been far from welcome to these Decepticons.

Soundwave brushed past him easily, and some of the tense lines in some of the Decepticons’ shoulders and mouths eased. “Soundwave, you vouch for him?” a red and black flier asked. 

Soundwave inclined his head. “I do. Orion Pax is a loyal Decepticon, and he will help us find Megatron.”

Orion had never claimed to be a Decepticon. In fact, up until now, he’d never even heard the term. But with Soundwave’s explanation of the name, Orion was happy to nod in agreement.

* * *

Orion learned that the three fliers’ names were Thundercracker, Skywarp and Starscream, and that they used to be military. That Starscream was a brilliant physicist who had been refused the opportunity to go to a scientific school because he had a flight-capable alt mode and instead was forced to join the Elite Guard, where he defected to the underbelly of the city of Kaon. He learned that what he had thought was a droid off to the side was a bot named Ravage, who was close with Soundwave, and he was glad he’d not said anything offensive as the small animal-shaped ‘bot seemed prickly enough to fight anyone who said anything offensive about him, intentional or not. Orion admired him. He learned that the gold bot on the opposite side of the table’s name was Impactor, and that he was more comfortable with violence as a method for change than Orion was fully comfortable with. With Soundwave and himself, there were six Decepticons here. 

“So what happened?” Orion asked, after introductions were all made. He crossed his arms on the table and stared back at the other Decepticons evenly. 

“Interrogating us already?” Impactor said, though his tone was light enough that Orion registered it as a joke. “Ask Soundwave.”

Orion raised an optic ridge. “Alright, then. Soundwave, what happened?”

“Megatron was arrested,” Soundwave said flatly, “which you know, and thrown in jail somewhere. I can’t find where.”

Orion relaxed his optic ridge. “Is that why you needed to come to me?”

“You have contacts that we do not,” Soundwave agreed. “You know certain senators, and you are an enforcer. Have you heard anything about this?”

“A crackdown on political dissidents?” Orion asked. 

“Gladiator fighters, actually,” Starscream said. 

“Why would…” Orion stopped before he said anything too stupid. “Megatron was a gladiator. Right.”

 _“Is,”_ Soundwave corrected. “Megatron _is_ a gladiator. And as far as we know, he still functions. There is no need to talk about him in the past tense.”

Orion conceded that one with a nod. He sure hoped Megatron still functioned. “Either way, I haven’t heard anything,” he said, “but Kaon is far from Rodion, after all. I’ll do some digging.”

The other Decepticons glanced at one another and then back at Orion. “Right,” Impactor said. “You find out what scrap’s going on, and then we all handle it. Sounds like a plan, right?”

Orion wasn’t sure he was comfortable with Impactor’s definition of _handling things_ , but he sure wasn’t going to say anything. Instead he just quelled the urge to shift in place and nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

“We’ll meet back here in three solar cycles,” Starscream said, and Orion scheduled a reminder quickly. 

* * *

He spent the remainder of that solar cycle and the next three as well on his mission for the Decepticons. He spent all of his free time talking to fellow enforcers, trying to find out anything he could about what happened to Megatron.

Nothing. 

And when they met on the third solar cycle, the other Decepticons didn’t know anything, either.

* * *

Senator Proteus’s optics skimmed the datapad, reading quickly. _The prisoner is still openly hostile…Subject_ _Alpha-1 should not require too many resources…not yet delivered a deadline…procedure is progressing slowly but steadily. End log._ Perfect.

He deleted the log after filing a copy carefully in a secret, encrypted folder. Project Forged Chains was coming along fairly well so far. And if all succeeded, well. 

He would be unstoppable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i realized i needed to actually (gasp) make notes on what i was doing with this one, lmao. So i have an outline, now. Anyone who's ever read Sliptime: this will not be 100k of a guy walking through a forest with random plot twists out of 'ooh that would be cool' and my general dog-getting-distracted-by-plunnies brain. i have _plans_ this time.  
>  So if you're curious, I've named the chapters, and while some are ominous and some are...less ominous, im happy to tell them. :D


	3. Tool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title explains much.  
> The Senate wants a tool.  
> Megatron is just unlucky.  
> Trepan is a little bitch.  
> (Note: some Trepan dialogue taken from Transformers: More Than Meets The Eye #34)

Megatron couldn’t afford to waste the energon he had. There was no guarantee he’d get another cube before he suffered a full systems failure. Instead he offlined every system and internal mechanism he could afford to offline, just as he had before, and hoped that none of the dents on the back of his head rusted while his repair nanites were offlined.

 _The farce of a trial was a spit in the face to the concept of equality,_ he fumed silently, locked inside his own processor by the prison his body was becoming and the prison he was interred in. _I was given no chance to defend myself or even prepare. Only the question of innocence or guilt, and no matter what I’d said, they would have ruled me guilty. They called me ‘the writer’ when they first dragged me before the fragging senate. The real reason I was here wasn’t because I fought in the pits or because I left the mines. It was because I spoke out against their abuses._

_How dare they._

He would have gritted his dentae if he could and stood up, if he hadn’t offlined every motor in his body apart from those around his spark. He would have hurled curses at the forcefield were he currently capable of speech, and willing to sacrifice the energon for such a hollow gesture. 

Instead, he did none of theses things.

Instead he fumed in silence as his processor fed him white noise from his offlined audials and static from his offlined optics and he fumed and he waited.

* * *

He didn’t have to wait long.

After a time—Megatron didn’t know how long, his internal chronometer was offlined along with pretty much everything else—he felt a jab in the center of his chest, right over his spark casing, where he hadn’t offlined the sensors for fear that his spark would shut down. He immediately cycled on his audials and optics.

He was back on a slab of some kind.

This time, the room wasn’t pitch black, but lit brightly enough that Megatron’s rebooting optics absolutely refused to focus at first. His audials started working first, and Megatron heard an unfamiliar voice mutter, “…cedure is a _terrible_ fit for the specimen. What is Sentinel thinking?” 

Light, tapping pede-steps moved towards Megatron’s head, and his optics picked out the very blurry form of a…medic? The medic’s hands came up, digits seemingly…strangely proportioned…

His optics finally focused.

The medic had needles extending from every digit on his servos. 

Megatron had never seen anything like that, but he did know he wasn’t all that happy about having needles that long nearly so close to his face, so he tried to jerk his head out of the way. Some kind of strip of scrap metal covered his intake, and he was fully immobilized. His dented helm sat on the table next to him, and as he tried to move he could see it gleaming dully. 

The medic rapped a servo against his chest. “Are you online?”

Megatron tried to twitch away from him. He made to protest, to tell the mech to get away, to do…something, but the strip across his intake reduced it to a wordless noise of protest. 

“Ah, perfect,” the medic said. “You _are.”_

If Megatron could have moved, he’d have thrashed against his restraints. He let out another muffled yell.

The medic did something out of Megatron’s sight, something exquisitely painful that shorted Megatron’s optics and whited out his audials and was the kind of pure, unadulterated agony that stopped one from screaming out of the sheer overload of sensation. His head felt like it was being drilled, slowly, with five dull points. 

Megatron had never been this terrified in his life.

He must have whited out for a klik, because when he got his center back the medic’s face was at a slightly different angle. There was an absolutely unsettling smile on his face, which only grew wider as Megatron noted it. 

“Shhhh,” the medic said, though nothing about his voice was comforting. A sharp amusement lurked in his words. “I’ll be gentle. Try not to resist. The ones who resist tend to _leak_ —physically _and_ mentally.”

The medic did something, and the pain crescendoed again, accompanied with a peculiar feeling of false calm. “See, I could have done this while you were offline,” the medic said, still doing the painful thing he’d started—it felt like there were needles moving inside his head—and still grinning. “But a conscious mind is far more receptive to… _alteration_.”

The calm feeling came back in fuller force. Megatron panicked. He would not e made docile and weak against his will. He would not be _shadowplayed_. This had to be shadowplay. It had to be part of the Institute. 

This couldn’t be happening. He still had so much he could do, so much he could change. The unfairness of it rankled in his processor. The wave of calm started to fray as Megatron’s vision started to go faintly violet. 

“The noise in your head!” the medic said, eyes widening in what looked like sick delight. “So much _pride_ and _doubt_ and _fear_. And so many questions.”

Megatron couldn’t hold back the wave of nauseated horror at the words. He let out another muffled yell in lieu of actually doing anything, and the pressure in his head—in his _brain module_ —shifted. Suddenly the wave of calm was gone, but now Megatron couldn’t feel anything artificial, and the insidious not-knowing was so much worse than the false feeling he’d had just a moment ago that it made him want to purge his tanks. The purple in his vision solidified into a magenta blur in the bottom of his line of sight. 

“This is such a fool’s job,” the medic said dryly. “Honestly, I don’t know what the Senate thinks this is going to accomplish. They should just have let me straighten you out, dull your intellect a bit, take down your more anarchic thoughts…but no.”

Megatron had no idea what that meant, and if he weren’t otherwise occupied by his head being _invaded_ and his _fragging personality overwritten_ he might have even bothered to try and figure it out. 

He wished someone were here. Anyone. Soundwave. Starscream. Anyone but these fragging Senate turbofoxes. He could handle this if someone were there for him to have to hold out for. But he was alone, and he was terrified, and his worst fears were coming through and _he was alone_. 

“That’s interesting,” the medic noted. “A big bad killer bot like you must hate not being able to fight back. But don’t worry, Megatron. If you just give in, this will be far easier for you.”

A white hot burst of agony seared his circuits as the fingers shifted once again, and Megatron lost another klik to the shocked agony. When he came to once more, there was a stripe of something cold and wet dripping slowly down one the side of his head. He supposed he was leaking. It didn’t matter—he still had to resist. There was no other option.

“This entire procedure is a waste of time,” the medic said suddenly. “A proper personality adjustment would work far better than this, especially on a patient like yourself. Even so, you don’t need to worry. I’ll still fix you as best as I can, Megatron.” The pressure shifted again, and amid the sharp spike in the pain Megatron felt some of his horror ebbing away. They were going to force him to accept this. 

The thought made his tanks lurch uncomfortably again. 

“Just relax and accept it,” the medic said. 

Megatron tried to grit his dentae and if he had any of his motors online he would have jerked away from the medic. But he was still helpless. He let out another hoarse, muffled scream even as his fear— _his_ fear, it was his, and even if it was unpleasant, slag it, it was _his_ and he wasn’t going to let go of it for the Senate unless they tore it from his dead, stilled hands—ebbed away against his will. He steeled himself, remembered the good mechs he’d known who’d come back _different_ , changed fundamentally by this slag, and tried to hold onto the pain and shock and cold terror that he’d always felt when he thought about it, to no avail. An alien sense of peace and calm blanketed him, smothering him, making him choke on its oppressive relaxation. 

He tried to think of his quiescent rebellion. The Decepticons would rise. He might fall, but the populace of Cybertron chafed under the abuses of the Senate and the Prime. They would rise up. They would stop this.

“Oh, Megatron,” the medic said, voice smug and self-assured. “You’ll be made useful yet. And if all goes well, you’ll be instrumental in the events surrounding your traitors’ little…revolution.”

Megatron didn’t even have the ability to be disgusted. He settled for vaguely unnerved, but even that was washed away by the sweeping strokes of the medic’s mental alteration. And so he stared at the ceiling, energon leaking from both optics, and tried not to lose sight of who he was as the medic unrelentingly violated his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: chapters 4 and 7, respectively, will be graphic torture. ill also put a warning at the top of each chapter.  
> honestly this fic is gonna have a lot of Kill Bill style fountains of energon and rivers of violet liquid dripping from gaping flowers left by bullets' exit wounds, but like those two are gonna be the Worst Of The Worst. So heads up


	4. Creeping Corruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orion Pax has a crisis of conscience. As usual. 
> 
> Megatron has a crisis of grievous bodily harm. Also as usual.
> 
> Tw: torture, psychological grooming

_Project FC, log seven, 8/6_

_The prisoner is less hostile, though reports are less reliable, as he prefers to remain in stasis. Phase one draws to a close, and soon we shall see if phase two has taken hold properly. The mnemosurgeon T informs us that the prisoner has been modified properly, but should he imprint on the wrong voice print, the entire project will be set back. Recommended course of action would state that Senator P must appear in person soon. The Chainlink Protocol cannot proceed without him._

_End log._

* * *

Orion was starting to lose hope when the mech all but fell into his lap. 

Not Megatron, of course. He wasn’t so lucky. But one of his officers picked up a skinny young mech named Genitus from the Dead End carrying illegal anti-Functionist propaganda, and though Orion was meant to turn him over to the upper levels for ‘treasonous behaviors,’ he—as he always did—made sure the works in question vanished somewhere out of sight until the kid could get released. 

And then, rather not was he always did, Orion went and talked to the mech after he’d been released. 

“My name is Orion Pax,” Orion said, and the Genitus jumped and spun around. “I think you have something you might want back.” He extended a servo, holding the datapad gently. 

Genitus gave him a look tinged in panic. “I—I didn’t write it—did you read it?”

Orion mouth quirked up, and he dropped his voice lower so that anyone around would, hopefully, not hear them. “I thought it was well-written. I have a copy back home.”

The mech blinked up at him, and finally took the datapad. “Thank you.”

Orion smiled at him, “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you get this?”

“A…friend,” Genitus said evasively, and orion considered. 

Orion nodded. “Thank you. Have a good afternoon, Genitus.”

Genitus gave him a searching look, turning away. “You are being deceived,” he said softly. 

Orion reset his audials. “Be careful,” he said sharply, tone belying the sudden surge of hope in his spark. “We _are_ going to change things, but not if we get caught.”

Genitus paused for a moment, nodded, and then vanished into the bustle of the city street. Seconds later, he got a ping on his comm. `It’s Genitus. Are you really a Decepticon?`

Orion walked back to his office as though he hadn’t a care in the world, but he sent back another message all the same. `Ask Soundwave.`

Genitus didn’t respond for a few minutes. `Who’s Soundwave?`

`The mech who recruited me,` Orion sent back. `He knows Megatron.`

There was another long pause, and then Genitus sent him back a string of code, nothing but numbers, that he could see was a Grid address. A deeply illegal one, if Orion’s instincts were right. 

`Thank you,` Orion sent.

There was no answer.

* * *

Orion was originally hesitant to start to poke around on illegal sites looking for Megatron—he’d spent too long enforcing the laws to openly flout them—but with the message from Genitus and the decacycles of _nothing_ , he was starting to get worried enough to consider doing some more underhanded things. He didn’t have much of a choice. The meetings with the other Decepticons made it clear that no one was finding anything out. No one. They were growing desperate. 

And they still didn’t know whether Megatron even still functioned.

* * *

Soundwave approached Orion after the latest meeting, field crackling with a mild sense of approval. “Orion, I know you’re uncomfortable about this,” he said gently. “But it’s necessary.”

Orion ducked his head for a moment. “Yeah.”

Soundwave put a servo on Orion’s shoulder. “You’re not hurting anyone. The laws are unjust, you _know_ this, and we’re only going to use what you can give us to help Megatron. It’s the right thing.”

Orion in-vented and then looked up, optics meeting Soundwave’s implacable red visor. “I know it’s important that we find him, Soundwave. I just don’t know if it’s right to—”

“It’s not right to leave Megatron in the hands of the Functionists,” Soundwave snapped. 

Orion thought about that for a moment, and Soundwave continued, voice a shade gentler in the tone he tended to take with his cassettes. “I know you’re conflicted, but freedom for all Cybertronians is not in alignment with the laws. We _are_ criminals in the eyes of the law and the nobility. But in your spark, can you truly say that this is wrong? That to help Megatron, to help all of the Cybertronians who suffer under Functionism—look me in the optics and tell me that just because it’s illegal, it’s wrong.”

Orion looked down. “I never said it was wrong. It just makes me uncomfortable. Like I’m betraying myself, and my oaths.”

“Your oaths to our oppressors.”

Orion couldn’t deny that that was the truth. 

“They don’t matter,” Soundwave said. Satisfied, the telepath inclined his head and turned to leave. “We are all counting on you, Orion Pax.”

* * *

Warm, precious energon spilled from Megatron’s back and trickled down his legs, scent strong and cloying in the air. He gritted his dentae, a sharp burst of static tearing itself from his throat, and tried to brace himself for the next fall of the whip. He didn’t even understand why this was happening. They’d shadowplayed him, hadn’t they? He was their tool now, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he? 

But here he was, suspended in the middle of a room, still feeling very much himself, and being lashed within an inch of his life for…what, entertainment? 

The whip came down again, snapping him out of his half-formed thoughts with the incredible pain of an electrified burst of energy. He screamed again, jerking forwards involuntarily, wrists chafing on the cuffs. 

The whip fell again, cracking on his shoulders and cutting deep, and Megatron tried to suppress his dismay at the feeling of another trickle of energon sliding down his body. He needed that. It was precious, and it was few, and how dare they? They starved him. They tortured him. They shadowplayed him, they imprisoned him, they perpetrated all of their worst crimes against him again and again and he was powerless to stop them and the whip came down again and he shrieked in agony and jerked and the mech holding it barked out a harsh laugh and Megatron trained his optics on the puddle of energon and tried to distance himself from this fragging nightmare.

This was like the Pits, he thought desperately. He could withstand any pain in the ring. He would withstand this. It was like fighting. It was like fighting. It was like—

The whip slashed down across his back again, and Megatron couldn’t fight back, and it wasn’t anything like fighting, it was like being _humiliated_ , and it was like punishment for failing to meet the quota in the mines of Tarn, and it was _awful_ and he let out another binary scream. His vocalizer crackled with energy and he reset it roughly. The mech with the whip stepped back, footsteps marked with little splashes as he tracked Megatron’s precious energon across the floor. The mech coiled the whip up, hung it on a hook on the wall just barely in Megatron’s line of sight. He perused the row of tools, and then grabbed something that Megatron couldn’t see. Some sort of power tool, something that reminded Megatron of the drills from Messatine, switched on behind him, and he froze in half buried fear at the sound. He’d forgotten how much he hated the sound of those things. How bad the things they reminded him of were. 

A white-hot bolt of pure agony dug into his neck, just below where his helm used to sit, and then dragged its slow, agonizing way down a straight line in Megatron’s back. Megatron screamed again, vocalizer frizzing and then cutting out, and he jerked once more against the chains holding him in place. The line of fire moved again, around his shoulders, and as the mech moved around him Megatron could see a small, incredibly sharp-looking drill bit cutting through plating and into protoform as though it were nothing. Energon, more of his scarce, precious lifeblood, welled up around the tool, and Megatron bucked instinctively, weakly, trying to twist the mech’s steady hand away from him to no avail. The world started to fuzz in Megatron’s optics as the agony got too much for him to bear. The whirring of the drill seemed at once too loud and too quiet, and almost false. The sharp burn of agony was the only thing that seemed real all of a sudden. Megatron dimmed his optics, and then onlined them again, flickering light from his eyes the only thing not bathing the room in light from the energon. 

The Senate lapdroid torturing him smirked, but the cold detachment in his icy blue optics infuriated Megatron like nothing else. He didn’t even _care_. He was doing this to a living mech, someone who bled energon the same as he did, and he didn’t care that he could be on the other end of his blades if the situation were changed. 

As the rest of him shrieked in overwhelming, incomprehensible agony, a small part of Megatron looked the mech in the optics. It saw him, and it judged him. And that small, distant part of Megatron found this mech lacking.

After a time, an incomprehensible, unknowable time, the mech coolly switched off the drill.

With a silent sigh of relief, for his vocal processor was broken and silent in his throat, Megatron felt the tool slide out of his sensitive protoform as though in a daze. He hurt, he hurt so bad, and yet the sharp sensation of it seemed to slip away from him. For that Megatron was grateful. He didn’t want to feel it. 

The chains were undone from around Megatron’s wrists and he collapsed to the floor in a heap of broken plating and pain and exhaustion, such exhaustion, and he felt a bone deep understanding that this would be the end. He would die here, now, and he…he was so tired. Something in him raged at the thought that he would die here like this, but the rest of him was just so tired…

He onlined his chronometer. Conserving energon didn’t matter if he was leaking it all over the floor. 

It had been two and a half decacycles since he was last free. 

He sat in silence for a time, a long time, kliks slipping through his servos like dust from a sieve. And then the door opened again, and Megatron stiffened in terror, but the mech who walked over was far smaller than the last mech, lighter steps still agonizingly loud in the silence, and though he was slow and tired and scared and so, so foggy inside, he still dragged himself upright to look the mech in the eyes. But in the dark, in the light cast only by the violet glow of the energon and the cool blue of the other mech’s optics, he couldn’t see much more than a few shadowy ridges and a bluish sheen to his metal. 

He held a cube of energon in his hand, its faint glow drawing Megatron’s eyes immediately. He reset his vocalizer and attempted to speak, but all that came out of the overtaxed system was a quiet blat of binary and not a plea. It didn’t matter, though. The mech stepped forwards, gently putting a hand on Megatron’s uninjured shoulder. “Chainlink,” he said, and the word was strange but Megatron was so blank and so slow that it didn’t matter. It was someone and they weren’t hurting him. “Megatron, let me help you. Sit down.”

He in-vented and did as he was told, shocks jerking through his body body sharply as he all but collapsed again. The mysterious mech shook his head sadly, and knelt down next to Megatron, tipping the cube of energon up at his lips. “Drink this. Please. It will help.”

Megatron blinked at him dully, and tried to explain himself, but no words came out. Only another string of binary. The blue mech patiently sighed and tipped the cube at Megatron’s lips again. After so long, the taste of fresh, pure energon was utterly delicious. He opened his intake obediently, and in the dim light he thought he could see the other mech smile. 

“Good,” he said. “Chainlink. I’m going to help you, alright? I need you to do what I say.”

Megatron nodded slowly in the absence of a functioning vocalizer. 

“Good boy,” the mech said, running a servo over the sensitive sensor crests on Megatron’s head. “I’ll do what I can for you. All I need in return,” he said softly, “is for you to remember me. Can you do that, Megatron?”

Megatron nodded.

“Chainlink,” the mysterious mech said, producing another cube of energon from somewhere. “Drink this for me.”

* * *

Senator Proteus washed himself thoroughly before he approached his team of scientists. “The procedure is working?”

“We think so, Senator,” said the head psychologist. “The introduction of the trigger word went exactly as planned.”

Proteus nodded imperiously. “This tool will be, by far, worth the inconvenience. Proceed with the Chainlink Procedure. And, Froid,” he lowered his voice, “remember the consequences if you should fail me.”

* * *

Megatron offlined at some point while the medic welded his plating closed, and he came back online in his cell. 

Frag this. Frag all of this. 

Megatron curled up, buried his face in his arms, and succumbed to the errors pinging across his HUD. He recharged. It was clear that he was helpless here, no matter what he did.

The only bright spot of hope he had was that mysterious mech. The only chance he had. And he wanted that reassurance, that safe feeling, with every part of his spark.


	5. Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Decepticons and Orion get back together.

Orion Pax returned to the meeting-place in Kaon exhausted. He’d been up for solar cycles, digging around on the site Genitus had given him and poking through sealed records and digging himself servos-deep in information to no avail. He took his normal seat at the table, trying to hide a wince as his overtaxed processor spit error messages at him for the action. 

“Anyone find anything?”

“Negative,” Soundwave said quietly. 

Starscream, to Orion’s left, slumped ever so slightly, and Orion resisted the urge to reach out and take his servo comfortingly. Starscream wouldn’t appreciate that.

“He’s got to be somewhere,” Impactor snapped. 

“If he even still functions,” Ravage pointed out flatly.

“He’s _Megatron,”_ Starscream said.

Orion dimmed his optics for a moment. “He’s still just a mech, same as you or I. We can’t be too optimistic.”

“Just a—can’t be optimistic—Orion, we’re a group of revolutionaries,” Starscream sputtered. “We _have_ to be optimistic. Or else we’re going to _die_ and nothing is going to _change!”_

Orion glanced at Soundwave for help, but the mech just inclined his head. “Hope is not our enemy.”

“Hope to the point of blindness is,” Orion said, and Starscream jumped up, snarling. 

“I’m not _blind!”_

“And Megatron isn’t dead!” Impactor snapped, leaning over the table. 

“You don’t know that,” Ravage spat back.

“That is enough, _”_ Soundwave said, immediately grabbing their attention. Something in his tone made Orion feel like a chastised sparkling. “Our enemy is the _Senate._ Not each other, and not the idea that Megatron might not be offlined yet. And even if he is, we swill still keep looking.”

Starscream sat back down, optics dimmed. 

“Well,” Skywarp said quickly. “We don’t actually know. So arguing doesn’t matter. Right?”

Thundercracker nodded, and Orion considered it before nodding himself. 

* * *

They kept talking, logistics and plans, but with the absense of any real information, it wasn’t long before the meeting dissolved into a casual gathering more than anything else. Before long, Thundercracker had taken a bottle of engex out of his subspace, and then after a bit they’d all wound up drinking it. 

And now they were sharing stories.

“An’ then,” Impactor said, raising his cube for a moment, “then these…these fraggin’ punks come up behind me, right, and they go, ‘hey, gimme your energon,’ like I looked like someone with energon to spare, right?” He took another sip of engex. 

“So what’d you do?” Skywarp asked. 

“What’d you think?” Impactor said. “Knocked the first one into the second and kicked em until they stayed down.” He drained the rest of his cube and held it out. “Someone top me up?”

Thundercracker gave him a half-cube more. “You didn’t get caught?”

“Who was gonna catch me? I was in Polyhex,” Impactor said dryly. “Why would they have cared about three empties pounding on each other for energon?”

“I would’ve,” Orion said, intoxication making him just a bit bolder than usual. “Justice and equality is very…it’s important.”

“That’s why you’re one of us and not one of the Polyhex ‘forcers,” Skywarp said. 

“Yeah,” Thundercracker said. “You’re a real Decepticon. You don’t wanna step on people.”

Starscream huffed and took a long sip of his drink. “Sometimes you have to step on people.”

“Yeah!” Impactor said. “You gotta keep the mechs who’d keep you down, you have to keep ‘em down first.”

Soundwave inclined his head from where he sat. He’d refused to drink, and instead settled into the corner watching them. “Defense of our own is vitally important.”

Orion didn’t much agree with that, and if he wasn’t just a bit overcharged he’d probably have held his tongue, but—

“Oppression and defense aren’t the same thing,” he said, pointing his empty cube at Starscream. 

“I’m not talking about oppressing anyone!” Starscream protested, voice high. “I’m talking about being opportunistic! And ambitious!”

“But,” Orion said. It was very important. It was a very important thing. He was sure it was very important to make this distinction. “But that’s not oppression. Right?”

Soundwave nodded again. “It’s not.”

Orion smiled, and Starscream gave him a look and then snatched the bottle from Thundercracker, who let out a surprised yelp, and filled Orion’s cube up with a bit more engex. 

“Thank you,” Orion said, just a bit surprised. 

Starscream raised his optic ridges. “Is he overcharged already?” he asked Soundwave, voice almost baffled. 

Ravage was the one who answered, though. “What are you asking him for?” the cat-shaped bot asked from his place at the table. “Orion, you overcharged?”

Orion shrugged. “Not yet, just a little buzzed.”

“There, that wasn’t hard,” Ravage said. 

Starscream gave him a dark look, and then sipped on his cube and hiked his wings up dramatically, forcing a grin. “Alright, my turn. Anyone want to hear about the time I…”

* * *

Orion caught up with Starscream as he and his trine were leaving. “Hey, Starscream, can I talk to you?”

Starscream gave him a curious, if slightly glazed, look from where he was leaning on Skywarp’s shoulder. “About?”

“Nothing in particular,” Orion said, which was true in the most basic sense of the word but certainly didn’t say anything that would send Starscream running, which was very important to Orion at the moment. Starscream sighed and straightened up, staggering over. “So. Orion. What is it?”

Orion patted him on the wing, and the seeker keeled over. Orion quickly grabbed the smaller mech’s waist to keep him from falling. Starscream grabbed at his plating halfheartedly. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” Orion said. “How are you feeling?”

Starscream squinted up at him. “That a trick question? I’m feeling overcharged.”

“Um,” said Orion. “More like in general. How’re you holding up?”

Starscream blinked at him, and then pushed at Orion’s chest. Orion let go of him immediately. “No. I’m pleasantly overcharged and you will not ruin it by making me talk about my feelings.”

Orion shrugged. “If you ever need someone to talk to. I’m always around.”

Starscream snorted, and then stared at him for a moment when the laugh wasn’t returned, optics suddenly surprisingly clear. “I’ll remember that,” he said. “The offer.”

Orion patted him on the wing. “Thank you.”

Starscream sniffed imperiously. “If that’s all?”

Orion did not, this time, resist the desire to pat Starscream on the helm, and the other bot—and both members of his trine, too—stared at him in surprise at the open gesture of affection. “Yeah. That’s all. See you round, Starscream.”

* * *

_Log 9, 8/28_

_Subject Alpha-1 is responding well to Phase Three treatment. Success expected within three decacycles._

_End log._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not gonna lie i wrote most of this at 3 in the mroning with post panic attack jitters. any and all spelling errors would be appreciated and corrected if and when pointed out


	6. Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Decepticon continues to Do Their Best.

Orion glanced over the datapad and then tossed it at rest of the stack of opened, unhelpful stolen pads. “There’s nothing worthwhile on here, either.”

Soundwave glanced up from his own datapad and sighed. “So we’ll keep looking.”

Orion nodded, and delved back into the stack of unopened pads. Useless, useless, mildly disturbing but useless all the same, useless, useless. There wasn’t a single mention about anything involving Megatron, political dissidents, or illegal Kaonite gladiators. “Soundwave, are you sure there’s anything useful in this whole pile?”

“No,” Soundwave said, “but we still need to look anyway.”

Orion turned back to the stack of pads and tried not to think about how mind0numbing this part of any investigation felt.

* * *

They were halfway through the stack when a pair of bright yellow droids flew in through Soundwave’s open window and settled on the table casually. A pair of droids…

Orion glanced up at Soundwave, thought of Ravage, and weighed his words carefully. “What are their names?”

Soundwave stared at him for a moment, and then turned to the droids. His face was impassive as ever, but something in Orion was able to recognize disapproval when he saw it. “Laserbeak and Buzzsaw.”

“What’s up with him?” one of the two asked. 

“Not a clue, Beak,” the other—ostensibly Buzzsaw—snapped back. “We got nothing, Boss. Ratbat hasn’t heard anything, either.”

“I think he’s hiding something,” Laserbeak said. 

“It’s Ratbat,” Buzzsaw said with a distinctly derisive squawk. “He’s always hiding something.” 

“Do you think it’s relevant?” Soundwave asked, voice calm.

“Definitely,” Laserbeak said.

* * *

Orion flopped into his seat behind his desk at the precinct with a sigh. “You said someone was here to see me?” he called to one of his subordinate officers, Whirl. 

“Yeah,” Whirl said. 

“Tell him I’ve only got a nanoklik,” Orion said. “I have to go back out on patrol soon. And send them in.”

Maybe two kliks later, a young flier sidled into his office.

A young flier Orion knew.

“Starscream, why are you here?” Orion asked, scenarios running through his head. He jumped to his feet, making sure he had his blaster at his side. “Did you find him? Is everyone okay?”

Starscream gave him a flat look. “Pax, sit down, no one’s dying. Is it too much to believe that I just wanted to come here?”

“To the _Enforcers’_ headquarters? In _Rodion_?” 

Starscream gave him an unimpressed look. 

“Yes, it is, Starscream. It’s too much. Why are you here?”

“Why not?” the Seeker said, vaulting over the desk to jump directly into Orion’s vacant chair. “So what are you doing?”

“Starscream, get out of my chair,” Orion said, resisting the urge to rub the bridge of his nose. 

“No.” 

_“Starscream_ ,” Orion said, a warning, and Starscream froze. 

“It’s just a chair,” Starscream said quickly, and started to get up. 

Orion blinked at him and then sighed. “Starscream, it’s not about the chair. Whirl told you I need to go out soon, right? I have a job to do—”

“I can come with you,” Starscream said immediately. 

Orion blinked at him.

“I _can!”_

“Uh…no, you can’t,” Orion said. “It’s not safe, Starscream. And you don’t want my coworkers getting too familiar with your face and being able to identify you—you _know_ that’s a bad idea as well as I—”

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Starscream said. “It’s not like I have anything else to do.”

Orion sighed again. “You must have _something_ —”

“Actually,” the little seeker said, swiveling around in the chair. “Skywarp and Thundercracker are in school, and I don’t have another pit fight for _cycles_. I’m _bored_ , Orion. Come _on_.”

“Starscream, _no_ ,” Orion snapped. “Look, you _can’t_ be here. It’s _not safe,_ Starscream, you know that as well as I do.”

Starscream pouted.

“That’s not how this works,” Orion said. He dropped his tone. “You know what we are, _who_ we are. We can’t afford this, Starscream. What would Soundwave say?”

Starscream glared at him. “I don’t want to waste my time with Soundwave. That’s why I came _here—_ ”

“Waste your time,” Orion repeated.

Starscream shuffled.

“Starscream, what do you think I’ve been doing every solar cycle after work?”

“I didn’t _mean_ to offend you,” Starscream snapped. “I just _hate_ this kind of research. I’m not an archivist, I’m a sci—”

Orion cut him off before he could say anything too incriminating. “I know you’re _military_. Of course you don’t like archivists’ work. _Right?”_ He glanced up at the camera in the corner and hoped Starscream got the message. Luckily for both of them, Starscream was not a total fragging _idiot_ , and he nodded.

“Yeah. Military. Orion, what do you _want_ from me?”

Orion sighed. “I want you to be safe,” he said, and when the mech bristled, he quickly added, “for now, at least. You don’t need to take any unnecessary risks. And this is both of us on the line—”

“Orion, what the frag is _taking_ you so long?” Whirl snapped from outside the door.

Orion inclined his head at Starscream. “See? Whirl, give me five kliks and I’ll be right out.”

Starscream stood up slowly. “I don’t want to go back to what Soundwave wants me to do.”

Orion shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Starscream. I wish I could be more helpful, but it’s not _safe.”_

Starscream huffed. “You’ve made that clear enough.”

Orion considered something, weighed it in his head for a moment, and then laid a hand on Starscream’s shoulder. “When’s your next fight?” he asked softly.

Starscream raised an optic ridge. “You couldn’t possibly come. It’s illegal and you know it.”

Orion glanced down and then back at the Seeker. “I wouldn’t be going for business, Starscream. I’d be going to support you.”

“It’s in four megacycles,” Starscream said quietly, looking down at Orion’s servo instead of meeting his optics. “Ask Thundercracker where or something.”

Orion nodded. “I really do need you to leave.”

Starscream sighed, pouted, and whined a bit more before he left, but something in the set of his shoulders made Orion think that that might have just been for show. 

* * *

“You saw that guy, right, Orion?” Skywarp said over a cube of celebratory engex. “The yellow one, Streaker or whatever. Wasn’t that part awesome?”

Orion didn’t touch his cube. He hadn’t much enjoyed watching the gladiator fight at all, and every time one of the other mechs threatened one of his Seekers, Orion felt his own battle protocols start to online. “It was well executed.”

“Well executed!” Thundercracker echoed. “It was _the best executed!”_

“Frag yeah, it was fraggin’ awesome,” Laserbeak said, perched on Soundwave’s shoulder. “You guys were _in sync._ It was _awesome_.”

“One day, we’ll be as good as Megatron,” Starscream said proudly. 

“Megatron’s the best,” Impactor said. “But maybe you’ll come close. Frag knows he had to work at it before he was able to do slag to anyone.”

Soundwave tossed a datapad into a pile with a clatter. “This is not a social meeting. We still have a goal.”

“Aw, come on, relax,” Buzzsaw said. “Just for a bit. Leave the pads and have a drink with us, Soundwave. You could use the rest.”

Soundwave sighed. “I will finish this pad,” he said, raising the next one into the air. “And then I’ll consider it. But we cannot afford to be idle.”

Starscream sighed. “We weren’t idle. We _killed_ two mechs. Our first real death match! And it went great!”

“Hang on,” Orion said. “Your _first_ death match?”

“Yeah!” Skywarp said proudly. “And Screamer didn’t even hesitate! He did such a good job, right? You’d think he was used to it. The crowd _loved_ it.”

“Our Starscream knows how to put on a good show,” Thundercracker agreed, and took a sip of his engex.

“It’s not like I’ve never killed a mech before,” Starscream said. “It just usually wasn’t on a stage. But it was _fine_ , Pax, stop making that face. Be proud of us!”

Orion stared into his untouched cube of engex for a moment. “I am proud of you three. You did a good job, and you displayed clear tactical thinking.”

“Not that I don’t like the praise, but that doesn’t sound like you’re proud,” Starscream said. 

“I just worry about you three,” Orion said softly. “This was your _first_ death match.”

“We’ve had higher-stakes matches before,” Thundercracker jumped in quickly. 

“Yeah, like the one we used to get Starscream a decent place to live,” Skywarp added. “Not like that shanix went as far as we expected it to—”

“—but we definitely couldn’t have paid it back if it were owed. We’re used to high stakes, Pax. It wasn’t anything we weren’t expecting, and the shanix is good,” Starscream finished.

Orion sighed. “As long as you’re not taking any unnecessary risks—”

Soundwave tapped his hands on the table. “I found something.”

Instantly, every optic in the room looked up to stare at him. Soundwave was holding the datapad hard enough to dent the casing around the edges. “Watch this.”

He pulled up a video and pressed play.

* * *

The video was not high quality, not exactly, but it certainly wasn’t grainy, and the image of a starving miner-frame mech with silver plating was clear as day. 

Orion wasn’t exactly familiar with the Senate building—he’d never been there in person—but he was fairly certain that the mech was being dragged into its main meeting hall.

“That’s not Megatron, he’s got these red designs,” Skywarp started, but Orion hushed him as the mech in the video was forced to his knees by the two enforcers flanking him. Orion’s own joints ached in sympathy at the echoing metal clang. The enforcer shoved a cube of energon at him, and the mech took it instinctively. Maybe he wasn’t eating as a form of protest or something.

The mech raised his eyes, and his scarlet optics fixed on the camera with an expression of burning, righteous fury. Megatron. Definitely Megatron. That was the sort of mech who would write the things that Orion read. The kind burning with anger at this sort of treatment.

And then one of the enforcers grabbed his cube, said something Orion couldn’t pick out, and then slowly, resignedly, Megatron bowed his head. The enforcer gave him his cube back, and he drained it. Orion could see the fury in the set of his shoulders as one of the enforcers next to him laughed. 

This was awful. 

Senator Sentinel took a step forwards, head held high in what he likely thought was a powerful pose. It simply appeared like he was grandstanding. His voice was mocking when he spoke. _“Megatron of Tarn, you have disobeyed the will of Primus and defied your path in life. You have attempted to tempt others to follow in your sinful footsteps. You have attempted to seduce others to follow your evil rhetoric. Is this not true?”_

Orion’s stomach turned. _This was about his anti-Functionist writing. If we’re not lucky, they might have done all sorts of things to him. He could be offlined, or worse._

_“Is this meant to be some mockery of a trial?”_ Megatron snapped, helm still turned down. Despite the bow, the show of apparent submission, his voice was sharp and angry, and Orion couldn’t decide if he was worried or proud. 

Then one of the enforcers hit him over the head with a nightstick, and Orion was just worried. 

_“Megatron of Tarn, you stand accused of these heinous crimes,”_ Sentinel snapped, stepping forward angrily. _“Are the charges true?”_

Megatron made as though he were going to stand up, and the enforcer hit him again, drawing another loud crack from Megatron’s plating. _“Frag you!”_ the miner snarled instead of answering. 

_“Admit your guilt,”_ Sentinel snarled back.

_“The things I’m accused of—you are the guilty ones!”_ Megatron roared, and Orion winced before the hit even came this time. And when the nightstick cracked down, Megatron went sprawling to the floor. He started to get up, only to take a kick to the chestplates, and then the video ended.

Impactor was the first to speak, venting shakily. “So, do you know any more? Is there anything else on there?”

Soundwave nodded. “Orders for him to be kept alive and a transcript of the video, only. But we will find him. This is a trail. Something we can use.”

Orion glanced down at the pad again, and then his cube of engex. The intoxicant no more appealed to him now than it had when Thundercracker had first poured it for him.

This may have been a success, but he certainly didn’t feel like celebrating. Not after seeing that video. Not after any of this.

* * *

_Log 10, 9/6_

_Subject is ready for modifications. Programming is taking hold. Phase four procedures of the Chainlink Protocol imminent. Success estimated in two and a half decacycles._

_Do we intend to reprogram subject Alpha-1’s loyalties to ensure that they lie with us, or solely his underlying Savior protocols? In other words, is this going to be a consciously recognizable change? Request immediate response._

_End log._

* * *

` To: Froid`  
`Subject: Log 10, response`

`Make the changes hidden unless triggered if you can.`

`This message will erase itself in ten kliks of opening.`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is, uh. heavy torture once again, but this time psychological. body horror. all the noncon body modification things happen next chapter. this is not the only warning i'll give, but seriously--ill put a recap in the end notes of that one, you can skip all the bad bad stuff without losing plot; i'm mostly just writing that one because i enjoy it, and i cant imagine grisly scenes of dismemberment appeal to everyone


	7. Your Chains Will Break You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the notes in my outline for this chapter went:
>
>> Finally, a return to Megatron.   
> He's been broken.
> 
> naturally, this chapter is one of my favorite types of writing--graphic torture. so im giving warnings. big big big warning for nonconsensual body modification. if that's a big no for you, i've summarized all the important things in this chapter in the end notes. dont read it if it's going to be an issue. you guys are cool and i appreciate you 

The current pulsed through Megatron’s chest, and his spark convulsed against it. He didn’t have the energy to scream. Agony spiderwebbed through his circuitry with the electric current overloading it. 

The nameless mech pulled one of the long needle-like electrodes out of his spark chamber and stabbed it into his throat, and then pulsed the current again. The scent of fried energon reached Megatron, and he writhed in place uselessly. Instinct told him to pull away, but the electrodes were buried in his body, and he had no hope of getting them out with his servos bound. Instead he just thrashed.

The mech moved another electrode, and Megatron’s vocal processor popped with a scent of electrical fire, and his processor felt as though it were burning…

…and Megatron found himself blinking ice cold lubricant off of his optics. _I must have gone offline for a moment._ The electric current was off, blessed relief, and Megatron gingerly opened his vents wider and tried to ignore the hollow ache in his joints from where his overtaxed circuitry had fried his motor relays. The mech tapped his face hard, and Megatron’s processor tried to shut itself down again to no avail. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to feel this. He didn’t want to be online for this. He just wanted it over. 

Dizzy, he raised his helm in time to see another servo-long electrode angled directly at his face. The mech forced his intake open, stabbed the needle-shaped tool through his glossa and out the bottom of his jaw. Megatron screamed, uncaring of the sound. It didn’t matter. None of this mattered. The only thing that mattered was the pain and when it would go away. 

The electrical current flicked back on. Megatron’s glossa felt as though it were on fire. He offlined his optics. 

“None of that,” the mech, his enemy, said softly, tapping Megatron’s cheek with a digit. “Open your fragging optics.”

Megatron did as he was bade, and then let out an instinctual low whine of horror at the _slagging electrode_ poised menacingly in front of his face. Could he speak, he would have begged, caught in the throes of agony and fear as he was; instead he just tried to shake his head and the mech held it still with a hand to the top of his forehead. And then the electrode was being plunged into his optic, and his vision went white, and his helm felt like it was being split open. 

He came to with the electrode still buried in his optic, more frigid lubricants dripping from his faceplates. The mech looked vaguely irritated now. Primus. “I still have another cycle to kill here,” he snapped. “Would you pull it the slag together, _slag-maker_?”

Megatron would have gritted his dentae if his jaw was responding properly. It would end. It would end. One more cycle. It would be over. Sixty-two and a half kliks and this would all be over. Primus, it was going to be so long. Primus. But it would end.

The mech sighed and turned aside, pulling what looked like some sort of medical tool off of a table. Megatron fought back a wince and fixed his good optic on the ceiling as he registered the distinctive shape of an incision laser. 

At least the electrical current was off.

 _Primus_.

The mech advanced on Megatron, and he offlined his optics. A sharp pain started at the side of his faceplate, and seconds later he was screaming. 

He would hold out. Just one more cycle.

* * *

They dropped him in his cell and left him there as a huddled, exhausted mess. He curled up on the floor of his cell and he shook with helpless rage and agony. He clenched his dentae in pain and carefully reached up to trace the remaining outside edges of his faceplate.

His faceplate, which they’d cut off.

They had very literally cut off his _fragging face_. 

What more did they want?

Every fragging solar cycle. For decacycles. They tortured him. Why the hell did this happen? Was he just a convenient target, something so genuinely bothersome to the Senate that they felt obligated to drive him to insanity? He wasn’t insane yet. But he couldn’t live like this forever and stay that way. No one could.

The door creaked open, and Megatron heard a voice say the word chainlink, as he always did, and it was like someone had suddenly grabbed all of his fears and thrown them into a smelter. It was his blue guardian angel, the nameless mech who helped him pick up the pieces time and time again. Megatron had the urge to hide the ruin that had been made of his face, but he figured that would be pointless, and so he didn’t.

The blue mech stared at Megatron in mute shock for a moment. “Megatron, are you…what did they _do?”_

Megatron shook his head. “They. They cut off my faceplate,” he said quietly. 

Megatron’s protector walked over, knelt on the floor next to him. Gathered Megatron’s flimsy, half-starved body up and hugged him. He held out a violet cube of energon.

Megatron couldn’t help it. He sobbed, clinging to the other mech like he was his only lifeline. 

* * *

It was never the same mech. This struck Megatron as almost funny. They never wanted to let him get too familiar with the mech tearing him to pieces. 

Megatron was exhausted, in pain, drifting on a sea of agony and misery. His head was full of static. All he could think about was the pain, but even that was detached. He registered pain on a cosmic level as the mech whipped him over and over, but even that didn’t seem to have much of an affect on him. He floated, and he couldn’t focus on it…

And then something stopped the whip. He didn’t have the energy to lift his head, to see, but that didn’t matter because he was just so tired, so tired, so tired. The pain was gone, and so he would have smiled, but his face was gone, and so he did not, and beyond that he did not think anything other than relief.

Raised voices behind him. The mech who’d had the whip, and another voice, his angel’s voice. What was he doing here? First pain, then safety. It always was first pain. 

He forced his head up, forced himself to look over.

The blue mech, now lit well enough Megatron could see him, struck Megatron as oddly familiar in a way he couldn’t place. Red, silver and gold accents made him look spikier than ever. He towered over the torturer, whip held in one hand, face furious.

Megatron dropped his head back to where he had had it hanging low. He was safe now. It was over. It would be over. 

His blue savior quickly undid the cuffs keeping Megatron upright, and caught him before he fell to the floor. He was almost Megatron’s size. Megatron hadn’t realized that he was bigger than his blue mech, how interesting. 

He pressed his helm against his blue mech’s chestplates as he was gingerly carried out and back to his cell, back where it was safe. The mech murmured words to him that Megatron didn’t pay attention to. He said the word chainlink. He always said chainlink. But he said other things, too, and Megatron didn’t understand what he meant.

* * *

And then they came for him again, later. They dragged him into another brightly lit room, another flat slab, another set of cuffs, and another array of long, twisted metal tools. It was routine. He stared up at the light because he couldn’t offline his optics. It made his head ache.

Three mechs walk in. One looked like the blue mech from his first few solar cycles here, Breakpoint, or whatever his name was. The other two he didn’t recognize. 

“What the frag did they do here?” the yellow and white mech asked flatly. “This is ridiculous.”

“I don’t fragging know,” the gray and green one said. “But it’s what we have to work with, Luminator, so we’d better get to work.”

Breakpoint sighed. “I already repaired him, a couple decacycles ago. They fragging screwed up my work—”

“Screwed up your work, Breakpoint?” the yellow and white one—Luminator—said dryly. “They peeled off the mech’s fragging _face_. That’s levels above ‘screwed up.’”

“No one fragging asked you, dumbaft,” Breakpoint said. “Steelhopper, grab the plate metal, would you? I can’t believe they expect us to fragging repair this slagger’s face.”

Megatron did his level best to give a dubious look without any actual facial features. “Would you just get it over with?”

“You sound far less angry this time around,” Breakpoint noted coolly.

Megatron did not shrug, because he was restrained, but that was the only thing stopping him from doing so.

“What are we doing with his face?” the one Megatron figured was Steelhopper asked. 

“Supposed to put all the underlying features back the way they were,” Breakpoint says. “Luminator, you have specs?”

“Yeah,” Luminator said. “Any designs?”

Megatron opened his mouth, “If you can, I had two—”

“You shut up,” Steelhopper said. “Luminator?”

“None, Hopper. Just a few sheets of metal should do the trick.”

“Great,” Breakdown said. “Let’s get to work.”

Megatron vented, staring fixedly at the ceiling, as the power tools around him started up. And his world became pain again. 

* * *

“These specs are weird,” the mechs said during one of their infrequent pauses. Megatron had half a face on, nad he squinted with his one functional optic at the three of them.

“Huh,” said Breakpoint. “That is weird.”

“We haven’t got a choice, though?” Luminator asked. 

“Nah. Guess we up his audial receptors.”

* * *

It was cycles into another long stretch of agonizing modifications when Megatron felt a piercing pain in his chest, over his spark chamber. He sobbed, far too far gone for self-control, and onlined his optics to watch as the medics did something, _added something_ , to his spark casing. He didn’t know what it was, but that was _his_. They couldn’t touch his spark. They—

Thin pliers expertly folded his spark casing back, and then something hot and sharp was pressed to the inside lining, and he shrieked static and tried to watch while his optics attempted to offline themselves out of his control. As they went to fold it back, he caught sight of what looked like a small transmitter beacon. He would remove that the instant he got free. He had no choice.

Because he would get free.

Right?

* * *

Megatron went offline for the last time during the cycles upon cycles of unrelenting physical modifications and woke up in his cell. He felt sick. His servos were different. He traced his face and it felt different. His chest looked the same, but he knew it too housed a violation, one inside his spark chamber, as though the insult could not possibly have gotten greater. He sat up, venting heavily, and he stared at his servos in horror.

It was only a half-klik later that Megatron’s blue angel appeared. “Chainlink,” he said, as he always did, and Megatron relaxed, horror and safety warring for equal purchase in his overtaxed processor. 

The blue mech reached out with both hands to tilt Megatron’s face towards his own, and Megatron offlined his optics in bliss. Once, a single kind touch would not have been enough to make him want to sob in relieved pleasure, but once he was free. Once, he had friends outside of just his blue savior. Once, he wasn’t being tortured on a daily fragging basis. And now here he was.

His blue angel pulled Megatron into a hug, and Megatron collapsed over him, sobbing and shaking and relieved, and he did not stop.

* * *

`to: Froid`   
`Subject: Project FC`

`Results are satisfactory.`

`This message will erase itself in ten kliks of opening.`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so in summary:   
> megatron's being tortured every day, and it's really getting to him. he's very dependent on The Blue Mech, who is pretty clearly Senator Proteus by now.  
> Proteus, for his part, is doing a pretty good job of playing 'caring decent cybertronian being,' but he is not, in fact, anything other than cybertronian. ~~fragging afthole. i hate him.~~ Proteus considers this experiment to be a success, as he tells Froid in a very short, cryptic message at the end of the chapter.
> 
> anyways, that's all you really gotta know. hope you enjoy the next, goreless, chapter, even if this one wasn't much your thing.


	8. Project Forging Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Soundwave finds something. Also i think Starscream has a crush on Orion, i honestly dont know, and now im debating adding the tag and going with Starscream/Megatron/Optimus, because ot3 is ot3

Soundwave perused a datapad, eyes flickering behind his visor at an incredible pace.

Orion, too, poured over a datapad. The secrets of the Senate were coming out for him. Awful crimes he’d never had conceived of. 

But no mention of Megatron.

 _“Orionnnn,”_ Starscream said. “Are you finding anything?”

Orion sighed. “Not yet.”

“Orion, I have a match later,” Starscream said. “Are you busy?”

“Probably not,” Orion said. “Starscream, are you going to help us, or are you just here to chat?”

Starscream huffed and picked up a datapad. He was silent for a few kliks, and then—

“Orion, I’m _boredddd.”_

“Reading through Senate reports isn’t supposed to be exciting,” Orion said.

Starscream sighed. “Come on _, Orion_ , this is so _boring_ , we should go _do something_.”

“We _are_ doing something.”

“Something _else_ —”

“Starscream,” Soundwave said, and then went back to his stack of datapads.

Starscream paused for a moment, and then looked up at Orion entreatingly. _“Please?_ We could watch one of my old holos of one of Megatron’s fights. Come onnnn.”

 _“No,_ ” Orion said. “Starscream, we know Megatron is alive. We have to keep looking for him.

Starscream sighed. “I know that. But if you burn yourself out, you won’t find him, either.”

Orion glanced up, surprised. He’d heard that before—from Ratchet. Was the little seeker just trying to look out for him?

“ _And_ ,” Starscream added, “I’m so bored my processor is fritzing.”

“Where’s the rest of your trine?” Orion asked, reaching for a new datapad.

“They have _classes,”_ Starscream said, and managed to make that sound like a curse. 

“Right,” Orion said. “You have any other friends?”

“Of course I do,” Starscream snapped.

“Then why are you here?”

Starscream muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘ _I wanted to be helpful,’ (_ or possibly ‘ _go frag yourself,’_ but Orion was being hopeful).

“Then help us,” Orion said.

“I can’t focus on this,” Starscream snapped. “It’s too…how do you focus on something like this for so long? How am I supposed to do that?”

Orion shrugged. “I just do? It’s not that hard, Starscream—”

“Taking breaks periodically should greatly improve your focus, Starscream,” Soundwave said coolly. “Orion Pax is hardly a metric to measure yourself by.”

Starscream bristled. “I’m just as good as he is!”

“That has nothing to do with what I said.”

Starscream huffed and grabbed a datapad. “I’ll show you. I’m better than Pax. I’m better than all of you!”

Orion didn’t roll his optics, but only through force of will.

* * *

Later, the three Seekers invited Orion to watch their next match from what they claimed were the best seats in the house. Orion did his best to turn them down, but under the combined kicked-puppy looks of Starscream, Thundercracker, and Skywarp, he eventually sighed and relented. 

And now he was back in the single most illegal entertainment center ever, ignoring his job, again, and hoping to death that the three Seekers didn’t wind up getting themselves killed.

 _“It’s a point match this time,”_ Skywarp had explained. _“So we just want to do the most damage. It’s less money, but Starscream says the odds are better, so we take them when we can.”_

 _“Then why did you do a death match last time?”_ Orion asked, resigned.

 _“Starscream’s idea,”_ Thundercracker had said. _“He can tell you when he gets back from wherever the hell he went.”_

But Orion hadn’t had the chance to ask—and he had his suspicions, suddenly—because then a little mech with very brightly colored plating had come and whisked the two Seekers away. And then he was being guided to his seat by a _very_ polite security guard, and holy slag this was close to the stage, would he get energon on his plating… and was that Senator Ratbat sitting next to him, holy slag, that was _three_ senators, what in the _pit_ were they doing here, this was illegal as hell and _they_ were the ones who made it illegal, what the _slag_ , were the Seekers in trouble…?

And then the Seekers were on stage, and Orion understood why Starscream and his trine were so popular. 

They _sparkled_. Their red, blue and violet plating under the harsh yellow-white of the arena floodlights turned vivid and intense and sparkly, and even just watching them walk was dazzling. They looked like they were bedecked in crystals or something. It was a hell of an effect. Their opponents had no hope of holding the audience’s attention compared to the three beautiful mechs. 

Orion paid his due attention to them anyway, though. They were threats to his Seekers—he would keep an eye on them. The two of them were big, but not too big, and there were only two of them, but they looked strong, and Orion was fairly sure one was a tankformer. That was bad news. 

But none of the three Seekers looked worried, so Orion didn’t intend to worry overmuch, either. 

The starting bell rang, the Seekers got into formation, and then the butchery began.

No matter how much fun the mechs around him seemed to be having, Orion couldn’t enjoy this. The seekers danced and wove, grace and elegance abandoned for sheer brutality, and they descended upon the two enemy gladiators like three whirlwinds of dentae and servos. 

Starscream tore a panel off the back of the one Orion had pegged for a tankformer, and a small chime rang. 

One of the enemy gladiators grabbed Thundercracker’s wing and yanked, one of the delicate ailerons snapping off, and Orion winced, and another small chime rang. 

The points must have been for damage, he figured. He’d never exactly watched a match like this before. He didn’t want to, either.

Thundercracker kicked at the tankformer, and he jumped back, before swinging with a heavy club at the blue Seeker’s head. Thundercracker ducked, barely, but the weapon clipped his wing, and he went flying anyway. The bell chimed. Skywarp yelped. The tankformer grinned, and then Skywarp was on him, pulling him back and down, and Thundercracker got up to help the purple mech…and that was when Orion knew they were going to win. 

He’d seen them in one other match, and that was how they won. They overwhelmed, and they did it fast.

Starscream jumped away from a hard slash that would have taken out his eye had he hesitated even a moment, and then dove upon the gladiator before him and yanked at his helm, twisting at his audial spikes and kicking at his shoulder plating. He signaled something to Thundercracker, and the blue seeker disentangled himself from the gladiator he and Skywarp were teaming up on to join Starscream; together they expertly maneuvered the gladiator into swiping at Thundercracker, and then—Orion nearly missed it—Starscream twisted something, and Thundercracker pulled, and they yanked the mech’s entire arm off. Energon sprayed across the blackened sand. Orion winced. The mech screamed.

The bell chimed.

Starscream high-fived Thundercracker and kicked the now one-armed gladiator in the head before transforming into his alt mode and diving headlong into the second gladiator. Skywarp gave him a grateful look as he drove the mech off of him. Orion didn’t know what happened, but he had a nasty scrape across his face, and circuitry poked out from his jaw, leaking energon down his chest. He turned to the first, and between Thundercracker and Skywarp Orion figured he had no chance. Instead, he kept an eye on Starscream.

Starscream was _terrifying_.

This mech was closer to his own size, and Starscream was absolutely all over him. Stunned from the force of Starscream ramming into him, the gladiator took a moment to shake himself and pull himself back together while Starscream transformed back and immediately dove at the mech, clawing at his throat and kicking at his helm. He didn’t even manage to get up. 

Despite that, the gladiator managed to somehow get a hold of Starscream’s wing, and Starscream shrieked as the gladiator pulled at the sensitive plating. Orion could see sparks from where he sat. But Starscream growled and kicked the mech’s hand with one pede, and the mech yelped, and the chime went off, and Starscream’s wing was released. 

Orion let out a breath. 

Suddenly, another loud buzzer went off, and all five mechs stood up. The first one was down both arms and had about half of his face hanging off by what looked like a very thin strip of metal. The one Starscream had taken on his own was nearly One of Thundercracker’s wings was twisted in a way that looked seriously painful. Skywarp had a shattered optic, and Starscream’s cockpit was shattered, chest plating bent in badly. Orion had no idea when that happened.

Starscream caught his eye…and then he winked.

And then the three of them threw their servos in the air, and the referee declared them winners, and the crowd cheered, and Orion, caught in the relief at their success and his pride in the three terrifying mechs in front of him, cheered just as loud as they did with them.

* * *

Soundwave skimmed the header of the pad he was reading. He knew the bots he’d recruited were out spending time together, enjoying one another’s company and getting to know one another. Soundwave approved. It was important for the functioning of an effective army that the mechs in charge knew how to get along. 

But this couldn’t wait. 

They only had so long before the Senate inevitably decided Megatron was unnecessary. 

They only had so long before Megatron ceased to function. 

Soundwave refused to allow that.

He picked up a new datapad, one that he hoped would be promising. 

_Project FC, log one,_ 6/2

_Procedure is in finalized state of execution. Reports indicate that our first test subject will be delivered soon._

_End log…_

Soundwave didn’t think it was related, but he wasn’t going to stop reading now. He figured he’d at least skim the contents; it didn’t seem to be very long. There were only twelve, after all. 

He scrolled to the bottom. It was dated to the same solar cycle as today, and Soundwave’s focus sharpened. He checked the time stamp on the file—this had been written seven cycles ago.

_Project FC, log eleven, 9/12_

_Results satisfactory._

_End log._


	9. Broken Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i told you things would get better

They put Megatron back together properly, and then they gave him a small cube of energon and left him. 

That was their mistake.

They’d repaired him, and now Megatron, greatest gladiator of all of Kaon, the Slag-maker, was back in functional condition…and he was _angry_.

Well. Angry and restrained.

But that was irrelevant. Or, at least, it would be.

* * *

Megatron glared down at the stasis cuffs they’d left in front of him rather than behind his back this time. They weren’t set high enough to immobilize him, and so he gathered up the will he had and the anger and fear coiled in his chest and the knowledge that _he had survived worse_ , and then he pulled.

Sparks flew. His left servo stopped responding. But the cuffs broke, and that was all that mattered. Megatron straightened up with a wince, stretched, and glared at the force field. 

He would get out. Somehow.

* * *

Decacycles-old words. Caked with energon, clawed clumsily into the floor. 

They were still an inspiration, and Megatron recited them in his head.

_You will be destroyed. I will break my chains and you will be overcome._

He was halfway there, after all.

* * *

They came for him in the morning, as they always did, and Megatron sat with his deactivated stasis cuffs on his wrists and pretended to be helpless until the forcefield dropped, and then he charged up, snarling, fast as he’d ever been, and before the Enforcers even had time to yell he had smashed one into the wall and grabbed the gun from the other with his good servo. 

He kicked down hard on that one’s head, smashing his face down onto the floor hard, and energon sprayed across the floor. The enforcer went limp as the back of his helm went concave. Perfect.

Before he even knew exactly what he was doing, he raised the gun, shooting the other mech once, twice, three times in the face. Metal melted. Energon flecked the floor like violet flower petals. 

Megatron sealed the field on the cell minutes before klaxons started to blare.

He glanced around, and then picked a random direction and started walking. Gun at the ready, audials pricked for footsteps, shoulders squared. _Show them no fear, and instead they will fear you_.

That was hard. This place was eerie.

Red light from the ten cells on either side of the hall were all that lit the area, and every cell save Megatron’s own was empty. Something about this place felt thoroughly wrong. 

He got to the end of the cell block, turned a corner—left, so that his right hand was out, and his right hand was the one with the gun— _always protect your weak side_ , he remembered Impactor told him, years ago—and kept going. Past another row of cells. And another. And another. All empty. To the last cell.

Megatron was the only one here.

He got close enough to the end of the dim hall to see what it led to, and then discovered he’d gone the wrong way and turned back. He walked his uncomfortable way past more cells, and then made his way to what looked like an elevator. Great. He clawed the door open, holding the gun between his left forearm and his chest, and then tucked the weapon between his dentae and flexed his left servo until he could move his fingers again. And then he started to climb the empty shaft. 

It wasn’t far to get to the next doorway, and he forced that one open, too. Another level of hundreds of empty cells. _Primus, how many of them were there?_

He went back into the elevator and started to climb again. He reached the third door, looked up, decided it was a waste, and climbed to the fourth. Opened it. Nothing new. He did a bit of mental math and figured he’d probably passed something like a thousand cells, if not more. Why the hell was it empty? 

He was the only prisoner here, and that was so far from good news Megatron didn’t even know what to classify it as.

* * *

It took him fifteen kliks and four more floors to find a ground floor. When he did, he forced his way out of the elevator shaft exhaustedly, tearing the metal apart laboriously. He might have been a strong mech, but he was still running mostly empty, and this was a lot more activity than he’d been able to do for the past few decacycles. 

This was the excuse he gave himself for not realizing it before another Enforcer ran around a corner, holding a gun. The first sign of life since Megatron had killed the enforcers escaping from his cell. He stared blankly for a moment and then jumped into the hallway, a bolt of blaster fire landing where his head had been. He shot the mech between the eyes. Energon spurted from the wound like a violet flower and splattered on his chest, dripping down, and Megatron glanced at it and then had to fight back the urge to shake at the sight. He wasn’t in pain. He wasn’t being hurt. He wasn’t being tortured. He was in control here. He was fine. He was fine. He was _fine._

He doubled over and clenched his fists hard enough to splinter the gun into pieces as his vision blacked out.

* * *

He straightened up kliks later. He was fine, and this was pathetic. He glanced down at his still-shaking right servo, dropped the splinters of his stolen blaster with a sigh, and strode over to the body of the enforcer to steal his instead. The enforcer’s gun was the same make and model as the one he’d had before, and that was a boon in that it was perfectly convenient. Were it some odd variety of handgun, Megatron considered he probably wouldn’t have known how to use it, and that would make things difficult if he had to deal with another enforcer.

He picked his way over the corpse, avoiding any more energon carefully, and pulled the gun from the enforcer’s limp servos. Cocked it.

Headed down the corridor the mech had come out of.

* * *

There was a door to outside. 

There were also three more enforcers, but that was not an issue. Megatron had the element of surprise and a gun. 

They never stood a chance.

A few kliks more, and he was free. Standing once more in the sunlight. 

He turned to look at the building that had been the center of his misery for so long. It was bland. No name adorned the side. Only two stories above ground, the gray cinder-block of a building looked indistinguishable from any other factory.

Megatron took stock of the location. Nowhere he recognized. Asking for information likely wouldn’t get him anywhere but offlined at the side of the road, and so he didn’t; he simply squared his shoulders and began to walk.

Soundwave would find him eventually. 

Probably.

At least he was free. He would rather die than live out one more day in the empty red-lit hell he left behind.

* * *

Soundwave turned to the door suddenly, dropping the pad he’d been reading open on the ground. 

Orion blinked at him over the top of his own datapad. “Soundwave?”

“I know where Megatron is,” Soundwave said.

* * *

_Project FC, log 12, 9/13_

_Release went badly. Prisoner made an escape attempt before Enforcers were able to sedate and release him. Is now alone and malnourished in Dead End. Requesting advice._

_End log._

__

* * *

` to: Froid`  
`Subject: Project FC`

`Leave it. He’s a resourceful mech. He’ll figure something out.`

`This message will erase itself in ten kliks of opening.`


	10. Rebuild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> obligatory Megatron Wakes Up Chapter, except hes not obligingly confused and just goes straight to "freaked out, but lowkey about it"
> 
> He's fun to write, except when he's not.

_Traveling from Rodion to Kaon took long enough when we weren’t carrying a half-unconscious miner,_ Orion thought irritably.

“If you have a better idea, by all means, speak up,” Soundwave said, and even though the words were said mellowly Orion couldn’t help but feel chastised. He gritted his dentae and kept driving.

They got back late, as the sun started to set, and the three Seekers were all clustered anxiously around the building when they finally got back. 

“You brought Megatron?” Skywarp asked quietly.

“We did,” Soundwave confirmed.

“Is he…okay?” Starscream asked. 

Soundwave gave him a flat look and said nothing, and somehow that seemed to qualify as a response. 

“Well? Is he going to be alright?”

“We don’t know,” Orion said. “He was barely conscious when we found him.”

“Oh,” Starscream said. “But he doesn’t look hurt, at least. That’s good.”

Orion nodded. “Yeah. Definitely better than the alternative.”

“I can’t wait to ask him how he escaped,” Skywarp said. 

Soundwave gave Skywarp a flat, expressionless look that still somehow managed to convey mild disbelief. It might have been in the cock of his head. Whatever it was, Orion envied it. It seemed highly effective. Skywarp took a step back. 

“No one will be asking Megatron anything,” Soundwave said, and that was it. The seekers backed off, and Orion and Soundwave dragged Megatron into the main meeting hall.

“I don’t think this is the best place to keep a potentially injured mech,” Orion began carefully.

“There is nowhere else,” Soundwave said.

“That’s not true,” Orion said. “I have a friend, Ratchet, in Rodion—he runs a clinic—”

“He is being watched,” Soundwave said. 

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“He treats lower-end patients of what wounds they come to him with, regardless of their source.” Soundwave said. “I am familiar with your friend Ratchet. He is being watched, Orion Pax. It is far from safe there.”

“I have an apartment—”

“You are our only contact within the enforcers, Orion. We cannot afford to lose you, especially if something lke this is to happen again.”

“I didn;t even do anything,” Orion protested. “Let me help this time.”

Soundwave cocked his head. :Who said anything about you not being able to help?”

* * *

Megatron woke up a few cycles later. Orion had done his best to follow Soundwave’s instructions, but honestly, none of this seemed like a good idea. A mech that had gone through what Orion suspected Megatron had gone through would doubtless ant to wake up safe and surrounded by bots he knew, wouldn’t he?

Bt Soundwave insisted that Orion not leave the room, and so Orion didn’t. He may have thought it was a stupid decision, but he wasn’t the one who knew Megatron. 

Megatron.

`Tarn’s Voice.`

He was in the same _room_ as _Megatron_. 

Megatron didn’t even _say_ anything to him, just curled up a bit more and watched him coolly from the berth, but…Megatron. In the same room. As _Orion Pax_. 

Orion thought he might spontaneously combust. 

He glanced up at Megatron but Megatron was looking at him so he looked back down and tried to busy himself in staring at his own hands, because Soundwave told him not to leave, but he didn’t have anything to _do_ , and then he got tired of that and looked back up but Megatron was still looking at him so he looked away again, and slag, this was pathetic. He was starstruck over a mech he’d just dragged across the road for six cycles straight. 

But it was Megatron, and so Orion was starstruck.

Slag. 

He reset his vocalizer with a click, and awkwardly started, “My name’s Orion Pax, and I’m a big fan of your work.”

Megatron blinked at him.

* * *

Mind racing, Megatron mentally reset his impression of the red and blue enforcer in front of him. 

“You’re a big fan of…what, exactly?” he said blankly. There were a whole host of things that could mean, and he didn’t like many of them.

The enforcer cocked his head. “Your writing. I, um,” and he ducked his head again, and Megatron abruptly realized he was _embarrassed_ , not cold, “I think you’re right. On all counts.”

 _Oh._ Megatron forced himself to sit upright, ignoring the twinge of pain from his empty tank. “Is that so, Orion Pax?”

Orion blinked up at him with blue optics, audials pricking up. “Yes. Functionism is wrong.”

“That doesn’t mean you like my writing in particular,” Megatron said dryly.

The enforcer’s optic ridges went right up. “You’re the only one who says it well.”

“ _Really_ ,” Megatron said. “Orion Pax, if you agree, why haven’t _you_ written anything?”

The enforcer looked down at his hands, audials sinking, and Megatron resisted the absolutely absurd urge to reach out and turn his face back to meet Megatron’s optics. In his defense, the enforcer had very blue optics. “I—”

“You?”

Orion Pax—the enforcer, Megatron reminded himself—glanced back up. “I’m not a good writer. You said everything I wanted to and then some, and you said it better than I ever could. Why would I write, when you’ve already written all that I could say?”

Megatron raised his optic ridges and then realized he was staring at the enforcer’s eyes and forcibly looked over at the door. “Where’s Soundwave?”

“I don’t know,” Orion said. The enforcer. Frag. “He told me to stay here so you wouldn’t wake up alone—”

Megatron relaxed. If Soundwave was behind this, then he would be fine. “Good. Go get him, Orion Pax.”

Orion blinked at him, and then stood up. “I don’t think that’s what he—”

“I don’t care whether or not that’s what he wanted.”

Orion shrugged. “I’ll go look for him, but…look, he might not even be here—”

The door opened.

Soundwave stepped inside. 

Megatron ex-vented deeply. “Soundwave. You brought an enforcer?”

“He helped us find you,” Soundwave said. 

Megatron inclined his helm. “Thank you, Soundwave.”

Soundwave inclined his own helm. “If you need anything else.”

He left.

Megatron looked over at the enforcer, who looked over at him, and both of them glanced away at the same moment. Orion’s—the enforcer’s—audials drooped again. Megatron didn’t touch them. 

“You read seditious writing,” Megatron said, trying not to sound vaguely uncomfortable and managing it fairly well.

“Uh,” said the enforcer, who was not. “Yes?”

“That’s an interesting habit for an enforcer.”

The enforcer shrugged. “My occupation doesn’t define me.”

Megatron fought the urge to grin, failed, and settled on a small smile. The enforcer’s audials pricked up again. That was adorable. “You may not be your occupation, but that doesn’t mean it won’t color your worldview.”

Orion sighed. “My worldview is Rodion. _All_ of Rodion. Ratchet of the Dead End is a friend of mine.”

Megatron blinked at him again. “You’re from Rodion?”

“Yes?” Orion said.

“You’re _the_ Enforcer Pax from Rodion?” Megatron repeated. He didn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yes? I think? I’m the only Pax in the precinct?” Orion said, sounding baffled.

“You’re doing good things,” Megatron said, and those audials stood straight up. Megatron’s grin, the traitorous thing, made itself slightly bigger at the sight.

“Thank you,” Orion said, and visibly didn’t puff up with pride.

Frag, there was no reason a mech should ever be that adorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you think something is Up with Megatron, then....i mean yes, it is, and stop peeking at my notes dudes i promise all will be explained in chapter [counts on fingers] 14


	11. Burn It All Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron is Fine. Totally, completely, fine. 
> 
> No, really, he's fine. He swears.

By the next day, Megatron was up and active like nothing had happened, if somewhat weak.

By two days, Megatron insisted he was perfectly fine.

And then, on the third day, Orion walked in on him kneeling on the floor in a dark room, shaking, a half empty cube of energon spilled out on the floor.

He froze in the doorway, and then carefully put a hand on Megatron’s shoulder. “Megatron? Look at me?”

Megatron snapped up to stare at Orion with wide, flaring red optics. Orion’s spark leapt into his throat. The massive mech looked _terrified_.

“Hey, stop, it’s alright,” he said softly, kneeling down to put himself level with Megatron. “It’s going to be alright, Megatron.”

Unsurprisingly, this didn’t actually make Megatron relax, but Orion was allowed to try. 

He did, however, lean into Orion’s servo on his shoulder, so Orion put his other hand on Megatron’s back and pulled him into a hug.   
Megatron offlined his optics instantly and buried his face in Orion’s chest, and he let out one absolutely sparkbreaking sob before falling silent and merely shaking in Orion’s arms.

* * *

“This never happened,” Megatron said, after carefully extricating himself from Orion’s embrace. “You never saw this, and it never happened. I’m fine.”

“That’s not how that works,” Orion said. 

“It can be how that works if I say it is,” Megatron said, and stood up. “I’m perfectly fine. Don’t bring this up—”

“Megatron,” Orion said, and the mech glanced at the ground and then back up and Orion sure as hell didn’t know how to read that. “That’s not okay.”

“Orion Pax. I’m fine.”

“Megatron, that’s not healthy. Can you at least just tell me what happened?”

“No, because nothing happened,” Megatron insisted.

Orion stood up, and then gently put a hand on Megatron’s forearm when he turned to leave. “Megatron. I don’t have to mention it to anyone else. But let me help you. Please.”

Megatron leaned into Orion’s hand for a split second, and then he nodded briskly and walked away.

* * *

Starscream practically hung off of Megatron;s every word. Orion’s little red Seeker and the massive silver mech were surprisingly cute together.

Orion was slightly jealous, but not as much as the other seekers, so he considered that a win.

“Starscream!” Skywarp said loudly.

Orion, Megatron and Starscream all glanced over at the offending seeker. 

“Star _scream!”_ Skywarp said again.

“What the frag do you want?” Starscream said.

“Starscream come here,” Skywarp said.

“No,” said Starscream.

Skywarp made a grumbly noise. “Starscream!”

“Shut up, Skywarp!” Starscream said.

“Frag you, come here!”

“That’s a terrible offer,” Megatron said dryly.

Orion choked on his energon.

“Yeah!” Starscream said. “That’s a terrible offer.”

“Are you slagging me—that’s not what I meant, you asshole,” Skywarp said.

Megatron glanced at Orion, because he kept looking over at Orion (and Orion certainly knew what he hoped that meant, but there was a decetnt chance he was projecting, so he ignored it either way), and then he looked back at Starscream. “Well?”

“Well what?” Starscream said.

“Well, are you going to see whatever it is you friend has?”

Starscream looked up at Megatron and then shrugged and walked over. “Skywarp, waht do you want?”

Skywarp waited until Starscream was all the way across the room to ask, “do you know where TC is?”

Starscream huffed. “Did you comm him?”

“No,” Skywarp said. 

“Frag off and do your own work,” Starscream snapped. “Comm the idiot yourself.”

Skywarp glared at him. “Don’t say that about Thundercracker. He’s plenty smart, Screamer. You’re just a fragging _aft-pipe.”_

Starscream huffed.

Megatron gave Orion another one of those tiny furtive glances.

He was definitely probably projecting. There was no reason a mech like that owuld be interested in a mech like Orion. 

* * *

Megatron handed Orion a datapad a few hours later, after vanishing into his room for a bit. “I’m working on something new,” he said curtly. “Tell me what you think?”

Orion took the datapad carefully. “Did you post it yet, or—”

“Work _ing_ ,” Megatron said. “Present tense. There’s only the one copy.”

Orion found himself holding the datapad very carefully. “Thank you.”

Megatron looked down at Orion, and for a long, shockingly intense moment, Megatron seemed to be studying Orion. Their optics met, and then abruptly Megatron nodded and then turned away. “Tell me when you’re done,” he said, and disappeared into his room again.

Orion stood there in the hallway with a racing spark and the sincere knowledge that even though he was definitely projecting, there was no way _something_ didn’t just happen between them.

* * *

Megatron cursed himself for fool and a coward and tried to stop imagining what the feel of Orion’s little audial spokes would feel like, what he would taste like if Megatron kissed him.

His feelings were not desired. He didn’t want it. And Orion didn’t seem to reciprocate, anyway. He smushed the feelin down and paced his room and waited for Orion to knock on the door and tell him how his writing came out. 

He absolutely refused to acknowledge that he was nervous, but he was wound tight as a fragging spring. Hed only ever shown his unfinished writing to one other mech—the only other mech he’d loved—before in his life.

And Terminus was dead. 

Megatron would rather crawl into the Pit itself before he let Orion follow in Terminus’s footsteps. 

* * *

Orion stared down at the pad in his hand.

The writing was…bad.

That wasn’t to say it was incorrect, or poorly written—in fact, not only was it great, it was persuasive, and Orion found himself agreeing with most of the points. 

The problem was that the point was _violence._

` Our words will never change anything. I know this now,` wrote Megatron. `We have no choice but to rise up and destroy that which holds us down. There is no reason to permit our oppression to continue, and every reason to force it to end. With the system as it is today, there is no way that change will be allowed to take root. The words of the weak are less than nothing to those in power.`

`   
`

`Thus the weak must become the strong, and those in power must lose their power. The only way we can affect change is to level the playing field. And we cannot do that with words.`

Gone was the Megatron from his earlier writings. Gone was the pacificst mech whose diatribes Orion had read over and over until their words were embedded deep in his processor. This Megatron was just as much fire and fury…but thhis Megatron was harsher. 

Orion read through the speech, and his spark broke anew for the mech who wrote it.

He didn’t like that it made sense. That wasn’t something he was happy about. He didn’t want to agree with violence as a tactic—it rarely worked, and in Orion;s experience it only lead to death and failure. 

_But what is it you do?_ a little voice in the back of Orion’s processor said. _You use violence every day. Against criminals, sure. People who hurt others. What would that make the Senate?_

Orion tried to find a satisfactory answer to that, and found he cold not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> entire chapter written between 2:37 and 4:02 am. please lmk if you find any errors


	12. Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is basically chapter 11.5. i needed a whole other chapter just to get the plot in the right place to move forwards. lmao.   
> anyways the stuff now happens in c15, not c14, apologies, but i literally had to move my entire outline a chapter forwards lol

There was a sharp knock at the door, and Megatron opened it instantly. Orion was back. Perfect. 

And he looked distressed. Less perfect.

“Can I come in?” Orion asked, servos clenched on the datapad.

“Uh,” Megatron said. “Yeah. Here.” He stepped out of the way of the door, and Orion walked into Megatron’s little berthroom, and he absolutely didn’t need to be thinking about that in the way he was, so he stopped thinking about it altogether and turned his attention to the actual topic at hand. Namely, the speech. “What did you think?”

Orion held the datapad out at him, and Megatron took it easily. “Megatron…it’s…it’s terrible.”

“Oh,” Megatron said, and pretended that didn’t hurt. “Do you know which parts didn’t work?”

“I—” Orion said. “That’s not what I mean. It’s good, it’s just awful.”

“You realize that’s a contradictory statement, right?” Megatron said. _What the frag does that mean? That doesn’t make sense._

“Megatron,” Orion said, and then stopped, staring at the datapad in Megatron’s hands with an expression of profound sorrow. “You—it’s a very well written call for something that I can’t agree with. You’re calling for _violence_ —”

“Is that the problem?” Megatron said incredulously. “Orion, that’s fragging absurd.”

“What,” said Orion. 

“That’s absurd,” Megatron repeated. “Nonviolence has gotten us _nowhere._ It’s clearly time for a change.”

Orion shook his head, and his little audial fins sunk even lower. Before he could even think about it, Megatron reached out to run his digits over the blue fins. 

Orion jerked away, and Megatron snatched his hand back. “I—sorry.”

Orion stared up at him with those blue, blue eyes. “What?”

Megatron broke away from his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, taking a step away from Orion. He glanced around the room and then stepped back again, making sure the door was . “Let’s just…go back to the pad. Violence versus non-violence. Do you really not see why the one doesn’t work?”

Orion stared at him blankly. “Wait. Why did you,” he pointed at his audial fin, “why did you do _that?”_

His voice sounded so small. Megatron felt like the worst kind of aft-pipe. He never wanted to be the cause of anyone sounding like that. _Definitely not of Orion, specifically, sounding like that,_ a little voice in the back of his processor added. He looked down at his hands. “I apologize. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“That’s not a _reason_ , Megatron,” Orion snapped, stepping forwards. “ _Why?”_

Megatron resisted the urge to deflect. It would serve no purpose other than to hide his ridiculous _crush_ , or whatever this was, and he didn’t think Orion would appreciate that. “I had a momentary lapse in self control. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just…” he tapped his fingers on the datapad. “I acted without thinking and I shouldn’t have.”

Orion stared at him for a second and then glanced down at the datapad. “We should, uh, talk about this,” he said carefully. 

“Right,” Megatron said. 

* * *

“Violence is bad,” Orion said, as though he were speaking to a sparkling.

“Violence is a tool that can be put to use for us, rather than against us,” Megatron countered. “Would you argue that the Senate uses nothing but nonviolent means of control?” He cocked his head, inviting a challenge. Instead, Orion glanced down at the table uncomfortably. This was markedly different with debating with gladiators—they tended to be a bit more confrontational. Megatron couldn’t decide if he preferred it or not.

“I wouldn’t say that, and you know it,” Orion said. “But retaliation won’t help us—they’ll just kill us, or worse.”

Megatron resisted the urge to sigh, and also the urge to treat this like he would a debate with one of the gladiators. He would keep his hands to himself this time, frag it. Even if it did make things inconvenient.

So instead of reaching out to tilt Orion’s head up and force him to meet Megatron’s optics, he just leaned forwards and said, “Orion, look at me.”

Orion _did._ Megatron hadn’t not expected it, but it was still bizarre. And nice, if unusual as all hell. If normal mechs would listen to his orders, he thought, that would be _very_ nice.

“They might kill us, _or worse_. Orion, _I_ am your ‘or worse.’ This, what happened to me, this is evidence that non-violence is not a solution.”

“That’s not true,” Orion said. “It’s evidence that non-violence is dangerous, but—”

Megatron sighed, loudly, and Orion stopped speaking. “You know that isn’t how it works, right?” 

“I,” said Orion. “What do you mean by that?”

“They were willing to retaliate like this for _words_ ,” Megatron said. “For _non-violent_ words. I said it in the speech I asked you to read. There can be no change if the Senate will not even entertain the idea of listening.”

Orion shook his head, leaning over the table himself. Finally, some kind of a challenge. _This_ Megatron knew how to handle. Not…polite, calm civility. There could be no calm, polite civility when the opposing side called for one’s own destruction and oppression. Megatron knew how to speak with fire, not cool calm words. And now, finally, Orion was giving him fire to fight back against. 

“That’s not true, Megatron. I know a Senator—Senator Shockwave—and he would be against all of this. He would listen to us, I _know_ it.”

“That’s _one_ ,” Megatron said. “I can list others. Momus, Sherma, Caritas, Seaway. There are more. There still aren’t anywhere near enough. There will never be enough. They gain their power from the system that we have no other choice but to dismantle, and they risk their place by repeating our ideals.”

“That doesn’t mean they deserve to die!”

“And we do?” Megatron challenged, looming over the table and Orion. “Would you consign me to starve to death at the bottom of a mineshaft because my legs got crushed in a cave in? Would you let me die because the senate deemed me too much of a risk to suffer living? Would you kill me if they told you I was the enemy, _enforcer?”_

Orion stared at him in shocked silence for a moment. “That is _unfair_ ,” he snapped. “I wasn’t going to throw your past in your face to score points, _gladiator_.”

_Perfect_. Megatron huffed a sardonic laugh. “No, but that is the point that needs contending, isn’t it? We are fighting _them_ for the right to survive. I’m a gladiator—I kill, and I live another day. I can’t just _talk_ my way out of this, just like I can’t talk my way out of a death battle.”

“I’ve _been_ to gladiator matches!” Orion said, standing up. “You don’t _have_ to kill! You could do point matches, or—”

Megatron snapped to his own feet. “And what happens to the loser? Penniless, injured, leaking their innermost energon until they collapse for the last time? Face it, Orion—the losers always die. The distinction is only in how long it takes.” He huffed. “And how sanctimonious the audience feels. I bet it felt pretty good to be able to say you weren’t _complicit_ in the deaths of any of those gladiators, hmm? That you didn’t do it, not really, because you paid for entry to the _point matches?_ You’re an _enforcer_. These things don’t even occur to you.”

“That,” Orion said. “That’s not _true_. The world is not a gladiator match. There are other options—”

“The other options have been exhausted.”

“That isn’t true,” Orion said, pointing a finger at Megatron’s chest. “Change takes _time_ —”

“Time that _we don’t have!_ We die every day, and they debate whether or not our lives are _an acceptable cost!”_

“And _their_ lives are?”

“Yes!” Megatron all but shouted. Finally. “Math, for one thing. There are less of them than there are of us. And they live in the lap of luxury, they’re never going to _change_. Orion, you’re not this _naive.”_

“You’re calling _me_ naive?” Orion said, leaning further forwards, eyes narrowed in anger. “They have an _army_ , Megatron—you can’t _beat them!”_

Megatron blinked at him. “You think I’m going to stand up in front of the Senate and challenge them to an honorable duel? I am a _gladiator_. I fight to _live._ I fight to _win!_ The senate follows rules in their dealings. The enforcers have rules. I will do _whatever it takes_ , Orion, and by the end of it _I will win_.”

“You’re insane,” Orion spat. “You can’t pull this off. No one can. Not with only ten people.”

Megatron raised his eyebrows. What the hell kind of figure was _that?_ “ _Ten?_ Where did you— _ten?_ Where did you even _get_ that number? _”_

“There are _ten of us_ ,” Orion said. “Me, you, Soundwave, Ravage, Laserbeak and Buzzsaw, the Seekers, and Impactor. That’s ten, Megatron. Can’t you count?”

Megatron stared at him for a moment. “Orion, we’re not the only Decepticons. Even factoring in the number of people who will probably leave us the minute we cross the line into open violence…” he ran a couple figures in his head, “we should be about ten _thousand_. If not more. Tell me, how bad are my odds?”

Orion blinked at him, considering. “That still doesn’t make it right. And you would be painting a target on your back.”

“There’s already a target on my back,” Megatron said dryly. “Might as well make it bigger.”

“There’s still the issue that murdering the entire Senate is not an acceptable solution.”

“It absolutely is.”

“It’s morally repugnant.”

“Most effective choices are.”

“When did you become so callous? The mech whose words I memorized believed in _peace and equality!”_

Megatron stared at him. “I was held captive and tortured on a daily basis, and you’re _surprised_ that my worldview shifted ever so slightly?”

Orion vented a shocked, quick breath. “You were what?”

Megatron did a quick mental recap of the past few seconds and then fought the urge to groan. Frag. But he couldn’t backtrack now, so he’d learn to live with the consequences and turn them to his advantage, just as he always did. There was no other option. “The senate kills us…or worse. I told you. And all they managed to do was help me _understand_ , do you see that? They would never listen to us. We have to force the world to change, because it’s _stagnant_.”

Orion’s blue optics were wide and shining with pity, and that was the opposite of a good thing, because Megatron didn’t need any of that. “They _tortured_ you?”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” Megatron said quickly, and then realized a second late that no, this wasn’t helpful either, and sighed. “Orion Pax, this isn’t—”

“The senate _tortured_ you, and you didn’t tell anyone?” Orion repeated. 

_There we go. The senate._ “Yes. That’s why they have to be destroyed, you understand?”

Orion shook his head, reaching out to put a hand on Megatron’s shoulder, and _frag_ but that felt nice. “You shouldn’t let their actions drive you to compromise your morals—”

“I’m not compromising anything,” Megatron said, not leaning into the hand on his shoulder through an act of extreme will. “I am proposing a _response_ to the threat we have. An adjusted response. I was always going to destroy them. This way is just a bit gorier, Orion. But they were not going to reign eternal.”

“They were never going to reign eternal,” Orion said. “We would have been able to change them peacefully.”

“You said that in the past tense,” Megatron said, clamping down on the glimmer of satisfaction unfurling in his chest. 

“I guess I did?” said Orion. “We don’t have to kill them, Megatron. Think about it!”

“We very literally have no other choice,” Megatron said. “ _You_ think about it, and then come tell me there’s _any other fragging option_.”

“There _has_ to be,” Orion said, almost pleading, looking directly into Megatron’s optics with his own blue, blue lenses. “This can’t be the only way.”

“Why not?” Megatron said, carefully lending a slightly mocking edge to his voice. In his experience, anger always brought the truth out of people at the most inopportune times, and he’d certainly gotten Orion plenty riled up. 

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt!” Orion snapped.

Megatron stared at him. 

For his part, Orion’s processor seemed to catch up with his vocalizer a moment later, because he proceeded to look like someone had hit him in the face with a shovel. 

“You don’t want me to get hurt,” Megatron repeated, once he managed to restart his train of thought. “You—are you joking?”

“Um,” said Orion, and he glanced over red-painted shoulder at the door.

“No,” Megatron said. “Stop. Explain. Did you actually mean that?”

Orion glanced down at his blue servos and then back at Megatron, and then down again. “I…care about you. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

_Well. That put a whole lot of things in…the exact same light, actually, now that I think about it, but it certainly makes me reconsider them._

Carefully, slowly, making sure to telegraph what he was doing, Megatron reached out to run his fingers over Orion’s audial fin again. Orion froze, and then after a moment he leaned his entire head against Megatron’s hand with a quiet sigh. If that wasn’t encouragement, Megatron had no idea what was.

He put his other hand at the small of Orion’s back, and the enforcer pulled him closer, which was _absolutely_ encouragement, so Megatron pulled Orion flush against his chest and tried not to smile like too much of an idiot. This was just as good as he’d hoped. 

Admittedly, he wasn’t doing anything other than _holding_ Orion, but it was still the greatest thing Megatron had felt in a long time, and that was enough. 

And then Orion offlined his optics and went up on the tips of his pedes, and those soft lips were being pressed to his own, and Megatron felt whole again for the first time in decacycles.

The world turned, the sun burned, the whole of Cybertron’s worst surrounded them, but it didn’t matter. All the world consisted of was the feel of those lips against Megatron’s, that taste on his glossa, the feeling of safety in his spark. 

For that one breathless instant, Orion was the only thing in Megatron’s world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this. fucking. entire chapter. was just listed as "the robots kiss" on my fucking outline  
> and it took a solid 2 chapters' worth of text to make it happen  
>  _why_ are they so hard to write actually acting on their emotions, ever


	13. Remake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heh-heh-heh.

“So we have to take this section out,” Megatron said, tapping on the map with one servo. “It will cripple the factory, while minimizing loss of life.”

“Understood,” said Soundwave. 

“I want you to run surveillance, Buzzsaw,” Megatron said, turning to the bird-shaped bot. “Laserbeak, I need you here,” he said, and pointed somewhere else on the map. “Keep an eye on these people, keep them informed.” 

“Who are they?” Laserbeak said. 

“They’re going to hold the factory after we blow the building up,” Megatron said. “Keep the guns from coming out.”

Orion fiddled in the corner. This made him distinctly uncomfortable. He didn’t like the idea of hurting people, regardless of whether or not they were their enemies. But he hadn’t been able to talk any of them out of this…and so he would do his best to help, instead.

“Orion. You’re going to handle the enforcer side. Keep them off our tails, keep them off the trail. You can do that?”

Orion nodded. “I should go to work. Keep suspicion off of me.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Megatron said. “You’re our ace in the hole.”

Orion didn’t want to be to be their secret weapon—he didn’t want to help anyone hurt anyone if he could avoid it—but he didn’t have much option, and so he nodded again. “I shouldn’t be here. If I get caught—”

“You have to be here,” Megatron said. “It’s a planning session, and for better or worse, you’re one of us now. You know what the enforcers do when they respond to situations. Your input is vital.”

Orion looked down at the table. “Alright. You’re going to need to block off these two roads,” he said, pointing, “or they’re going to try and cut you off. If they do that before you finish laying the charges, we’re fragged.”

“We don’t have to worry about an exit strategy,” Megatron said, “not with Skywarp on our side.”

The violet seeker beamed.

Starscream shot Skywarp a jealous look. 

“This is not the only issue,” Soundwave said coolly, tapping the building next to it. “This is not a good building to leave unsecured.”

Megatron squinted at it for a moment, and then huffed. “I see. Ravage, do you think you and Starscream could hold it?”

Starscream puffed up at being addressed by name. “I could hold it by myself—”

“You couldn’t,” Ravage said.

“—and I’ll definitely be able to do it with Ravage.”

“We need Thundercracker, too,” Ravage said. “Three exits. And it would be good if we had a fourth.”

“I’ll talk to Swindle and see if he can spare anyone.”

“Great,” Ravage said, and glared down at the map again.

* * *

Megatron vanished that afternoon, and came back looking like a mech from the gladiator pits. Red and black detailing on his helm and chest, on his face, made him look far more intimidating than before. 

And he had engravings on his chestplate. Orion kind of loved it. 

Of course, Megatron immediately locked himself in his room for a couple hours, and when he came out he looked pissed. The red under his eyes and on his helm made that look significantly less approachable with that expression, but Orion had seen scarier mechs. He followed Megatron and tapped him on the arm. 

Megatron turned, dropping into a battle crouch. Orion took a quick step back.

“Orion?” Megatron said, straightening up. “Sorry. You surprised me. What is it?”

Orion cocked his head. “Are you alright?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Megatron said. 

Right,” said Orion. “You’re not upset?”

Megatron raised an optic ridge. “Why would I be upset?”

“You look upset,” Orion pointed out.

“I’m not upset,” Megatron insisted. “I’m _fine_ , Pax.”

“Those are not the same thing,” Orion said. “Why do you look so angry?”

“I—oh,” Megatron said, and looked down. “I had a speech to give, Orion. I had to look the part.”

Orion cocked his head again. “You had to look angry?”

“Angry and invulnerable,” Megatron said. “I wound up, uh, overriding the automatic controls of my expression to keep it locked where I wanted it for the end of the speech. And then forgot. I’m perfectly fine.”

Orion nodded, and then reached out a servo to stroke the red enameled lines on Megatron’s chestplate. “I like these.”

Megatron stared at him.

“What?” Orion said. “I _do.”_

“Nothing,” Megatron said. “You’re adorable. It consistently surprises me.”

Orion smiled, and then realized there was something important he was forgetting about. “You mentioned a speech?”

* * *

The image of Megatron on the datapad, in the dim light of the room, red eyes hard and bright, looked furious and implacable and so unlike the mech at Orion’s side that he hesitated before pressing play.

_“We live in the shadow of those who stand above us,”_ Megatron said. _“And we let them stand above us. We sit in our homes and we think about how much better things could be and then we do nothing to go out and change the world to be better. We have sat here, more or less complacent. We have attempted change without **forcing** change. Even the least of us knows that to beg is a last resort, not the first._

_“The first step must be to create a change._

_“And we have not done this. We have looked around at the world, and we have chosen…we have chosen that our first attempt should be to **to beg!**_

_“I look around at my Cybertronian brothers and I see that we have failed before we have even begun. We have cut off the only options we have. We have ignored the only methods that will bring change. We permit ourselves to fail and we do not even **try** to create a solution. _

_“We have the capacity for great power._

_“It is high time we **used** it.”_

Megatron on the screen stood up, turning the camera ever so slightly so that his upper body was in the whole shot. _”I stand here before you and I will tell you this now: the Senate needs us. We are their slaves. But should we rise up, they would only see us dead. Should we **consider** rising up, they would see us tortured, killed, brainwashed. But should we lie down and accept their yoke around our necks, we would certainly die. Slowly. Painfully. Our hopes and dreams eroded by their oppression._

_“We need to **end** them._

_“This cannot be allowed to continue._

_“You know it is true just as well as I do. The Institute. The legal system. Frag, even our jobs and homes. We are **stepped on** and we are **crushed** beneath the pedes of our oppressors, of the Primes and the Senate! They will never change, because this system is to their benefit!”_

Megatron took a step closer to the camera, face sliding into the same furious snarl he’d walked out of his room with. _“We will be deceived no longer. We can see that they are never going to hear us, and they are never going to change. And so, they must be **destroyed**.”_

The image cut out, and Orion stared down at the datapad in his hands and tried not to chuck it at the wall. This wasn’t the speech he’d read over a solar cycle ago.

* * *

“Senators,” Proteus said, taking the stand, and making sure he looked appropriately worried. “We need to be prepared. The riots in Kaon and Polyhex are clearly not isolated events. I propose a countermeasure. My clampdown’s suggestions should be laid out on the datapads in front of you. This is the solution to all of our problems, especially this ‘Decepticon’ issue. Do I hear any objections?”

“This could make things worse,” Shockwave said. Meddlesome mech. _He should stick to looking pretty and stop involving himself in the important things_ , Proteus thought uncharitably. He didn’t like Shockwave very much. 

“Doubtful,” said Sentinel. “It will control the populace.”

“It will anger them,” said another, an ex-miner named Momus who should never have been allowed to reach these heights. “That might not—”

“Their anger means nothing if they can’t do anything about it,” said someone Proteus couldn’t see, and Proteus nodded imperiously. 

“Precisely,” he said clearly. “This will stop them from doing anything.”

The measure passed with four hundred seventy eight out of five hundred votes to the affirmative.

* * *

“This is perfect,” Proteus said later. “Success is coming our way. Soon, we’re going to hold all of the power.”

“Yep,” Sentinel said. “Things are in motion, certainly. Our people are in place?”

“They are,” Proteus said. “And our ace in the hole—our chainlink—he is exactly where we wanted him.”


	14. From the Ashes, We Shall Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> get hype cuz the next chapter is the important one, and also because starscream finally does something and its fucking hilarious because the both fo them are baffled

Proteus scowled at his monitor.

 _“Late last solar cycle, a group of unidentified insurgents broke into a government-funded factory and committed an act of sabotage, causing the deaths of seven workers,”_ said a skinny little green mech. The fragger was a news announcer. This little escapade had hit the media circuit. Proteus had no choice but to retaliate, frag it, and that would slag everything up.

_“The criminals then somehow managed to steal several shipments of dangerous weaponry, which should only be permitted in the hands of law enforcement officers to avoid injury and abuse. Four law enforcement officers were killed in this brutal criminal attack, and the insurgents escaped, though one was shot in the upper arm. Citizens are warned to keep alert and report all suspicious behavior to the local law enforcement officers.”_

Proteus turned the monitor off. 

Primus damn it all, who knew it would be so slagging hard to take over one slagging planet?

* * *

The next time they met, Megatron grinned at the nine of them and said, a hint or restrained excitement in his voice, “We’re doing it in six solar cycles.”

“Frag yeah,” Skywarp said. Starscream grinned. 

Orion looked down at the table and said nothing.

They discussed placement, planning, methods and movements and all the things that went into overthrowing and holding a city. Kaon would become their staging ground. And from then, Megatron insisted, they would have enough leverage to force the Senate to listen to them.

Orion wasn’t sure it was such a good idea, but after the success of the past few solar cycles, and the frankly startling responses of the Senate, he was starting to see what Megatron meant. 

There really wasn’t another option. 

He wasn’t happy about that, though.

“Orion?” Starscream said curiously. “Are you listening?”

Orion cocked his head. “I wouldn’t mind if you went back over the last couple of points.”

Starscream scoffed. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered snidely. “You’re going to help Megatron take this area and hold it. Need I elaborate?”

Orion read over the outline and then shook his head. “No. I apologize.”

“No big deal,” Impactor said. “But pay a bit more attention from now on, kid.”

Orion pulled himself out of his own thoughts and turned his attention back to the meeting once again.

* * *

“Starscream,” Orion said, as the meeting came to an end.

The red Seeker glanced over instantly, wings twitching up before Starscream schooled his expression into one of bored interest. Orion fought the urge to sigh. “Hm?”

“Can I speak to you?”

“Sure,” Starscream said.

“In private?”

Starscream glanced back at Skywarp, and then at Megatron. “Why?” he asked suspiciously. 

Orion gestured at the board. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in a spar?”

Starscream’s optic ridges went up. “A _spar_? Why not ask _Megatron?_ ” he asked archly. “Aren’t you two _close?”_

Orion fought the urge to sigh. “Because I wanted to spar with you?” he tried.

Starscream glanced back at Skywarp, who gestured at Orion impatiently. Starscream shot him a glare, and then turned back to Orion himself. “I don’t buy it. What are you after?”

Orion shrugged. “I just told you. I wanted to spar.”

Starscream huffed, straightening up. “Fine. Follow me, Orion,” he said imperiously, and began to stalk out of the room and down the hall.

Orion was still not used to Kaon. His paint was too bright, his optics too blue, to fit in in the underbelly of the city where everything was grim and gray and red and violet. But he’d been coming here for decacycles, and so he was more comfortable than he might have been in this dark place. Starscream walked as though he owned the street, and Orion followed him and noted how people got out of his way. 

Starscream gestured at a dark gray building, another one of the cinder block and cement monoliths that populated Kaon. “Through here, in the back. It’s got a training area. My trine have been coming here for vorns.”

Orion nodded. “Right.”

“You wanted to spar?” Starscream asked again. _“Spar?_ For real?”

Orion huffed. “Yeah, I did. I’m going to need the practice.”

Starscream sighed. “Right. You probably wanted me to bring the rest of them, then.”

Orion cocked his head. “Not really?”

Starscream huffed. “Then, _why_ , by all means, didn’t you waste _Megatron’s_ time on this?”

Orion stared at him for a moment. “You don’t have to spar with me, Starscream,” he said carefully. “If you didn’t want to—”

“I didn’t say that!” Starscream said quickly. 

“What are you trying to say?” Orion asked. 

“Why do you want to spar with me?”

Orion thought for a moment. “You’re a terrifying fighter. When you fight, you do it in a way that is breathtakingly destructive, and it seems like a good skill.”

“It’s mostly for show,” Starscream scoffed. “Megatron knows how to fight for _real_ , and so does Impactor.”

“I haven’t seen them fight, though,” Orion pointed out. “And, on top of that. I haven’t spent much time with you lately.”

Starscream blinked at him. “You want to spar because you’re _lonely_? That’s ridiculous, Pax.”

Orion huffed. “There’s nothing ridiculous about wanting to spend time with someone you care about,” he said. 

Starscream stopped walking.

“Starscream?”

“We’re here,” Starscream snapped. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

Orion dropped into a battle crouch and nodded, and then the fight began.

* * *

“Your form is all off,” Starscream said. “Go back to your battle stance.”

Orion nodded curtly, doing as he was told. “Show me what I’m doing wrong.”

“That was always the plan.”

His red Seeker stepped neatly to the side, and then gestured at the open air. “Try the move again.”

Orion swung his fist down in a mimicry of a blow, and then kicked at an imaginary figure. Starscream sighed. “You’re pivoting wrong when you go for the kick, and you aren’t following through properly.”

“I’m following through fine,” Orion protested. He’d taken physical confrontation courses long enough to knwo that he was damn good at his kicks. 

“You’re not finishing it,” Starscream snapped. “What would your next move be?”

“That depends on what they—”

“Exactly,” Starscream said, “you’re not following through. Your next move _should_ be to tear out their neckcables while they’re stunned.”

“That’s awful,” Orion said. 

“That’s life,” argued Starscream. “You wanted me to spar wih you, this is what you get.”

“I wasn’t expecting anything else,” Orion said honestly. 

“Good!” Starscream snapped.

“Good,” Orion said calmly back.

Starscream glared at him for a moment. “We’re doing another round. Take it seriously this time.”

* * *

At the end of the day, cycles later, Starscream patted Orion on the shoulder and told him that he might even manage to kill someone one day. Oriom, who by that point was the absolute epitome of tired and sore, shot him a glare, and Starscream cycled through a rather impressive number of expressions that Orion mostly failed to take even the slightest notice of before he leaned up to press his lips against the side of Orion’s helm. 

It took a frankly embarrassingly long time for that to sink in, and then Orion blinked and stared down at him. 

“What was that for?” he asked softly, gesturing.

“I wanted to,” Starscream said dryly.

Orion raised an optic ridge. “I thought you were interested in Megatron?”

Starscream’s eyes hardened for a moment. “Who said I had to pick one of you? You can just tell me to frag off if you’re not into it. What the slag are you looking for?”

Orion blinked at him. “Are you alright, Starscream?”

“Frag off,” Starscream snapped, and Orion winced at the sudden screech. He had a sudden thought that telling _him_ to frag off wasn’t entirely fair, since _Starscream_ was the one who started it. 

“Starscream, I’m not upset,” Orion said carefully. 

“Did I say I thought you were?” Starscream snapped. “This was a _mistake_. I blame Skywarp.”

Orion put a hand on his wing. “Starscream, please stop yelling. I’m not upset.”

“I know that!” Starscream said, still decibels louder than Orion wanted anything in close proximity to him to sound.

“You aren’t acting like you do,” Orion said. “Starscream, please calm down—”

Starscream gave him a sharp look that suddenly morphed into a positively mischievous smirk, and then the Seeker hopped up just a bit to put a kiss directly on the middle of Orion’s battlemask.

Orion stared at him. “What was that?”

Starscream huffed. “Come on. Let’s go back.”

Orion tried not to look as baffled as he felt. 

* * *

“You mean you didn’t notice?” Megatron asked, later. “It wasn’t subtle.”

“I had no idea he had a crush!” Orion insisted.

“He stares at you all day, every day,” Megatron said dryly.

“He stares at _you_ ,” Orion countered. It wasn’t even false. 

“I _know_ ,” Megatron said, and he sounded just a bit chagrined. “He also has a crush on me, for some reason.” He tugged at one of Orion's audial fins for a moment, and then shrugged. “So, what do you think of him?”

“Same as I always did, I think,” Orion said.

“That works out nicely, then,” Megatron said with a grin, and refused to elaborate further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only thing i want at this point is BLOOD AND GLORY and thats the next chapter! and the chapters after that! Get Hype, because arc: Chainlink starts tomorrow! 
> 
> Yes, I do feel like a TV announcer; no, I don't actually mind that.


	15. Chainlink: Ember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Revolution starts.
> 
> Part one of Chainlink!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the binary is actual binary. ~~I don't know how to do mouse-over translations, so I'm going to look that up; when I figure it out, I'm editing it in.~~  
>  Actually, doing the hovertext thing is way too much work, so I'm just putting it in the end notes.

Megatron led them to the stockpile they’d carefully collected, hiding his nerves behind a mask of cool confidence. The ten of them waited in the bunker, and here…

Here Megatron had an army. 

Ragtag, running low, exhausted, angry, but they looked to him and he promised _change_. He would lead them to victory. There was no other option.

He threw the doors open with a hint of the dramatic flair that carried him so far in the arenas, and the people looked in surprise at the mass of weapons he’d revealed for a moment, a sudden hush falling over the crowd. 

“Take what you can use,” he said, his voice carrying over the quiet, “and prepare yourself. Today, we will take back this city, and we will _force them to listen!”_

* * *

Energon flecked the streets already, splattering on Megatron’s pedes and flecking his arms as he charged the woefully unprepared line of enforcers. They had guns, and they had shields, but Megatron had those too, and he was not going to fail. He threw himself at them, using his own body as a battering ram to plow through the line. The people behind him, seeing an opening, surged after him, and the enforcers found themselves drowning in a sea of fists and guns and knives and fury. They didn’t last long. 

No matter. They needed to keep going; victory was not victory until the enemy lay dead at your pedes. “Barricade this road! Stop them from getting back in!” he roared over the crowd, and a thousand optics turned to look at him before going to do as he bid them. 

He turned back to his comms, ignoring the screams and the sound of the fighting around him. 

`Megatron: Where’s the next big problem?`

`Orion: The junction by me, next to the refinery. They’re coming over the barricade. We can’t hold them off.`

``

`Skywarp: You’re by the line on main?`

``

`Megatron: Yep. `

``

`Skywarp: On it.`

A half-second later, the energon-purple Seeker materialized at his side with his signature whop-whop noise, and grabbed Megatron’s arm before warping him across the city. Megatron tapped him on the shoulder, shot a grin at him, and then turned his attention to the task at hand.

Shoving his way through the crowd, he forced himself to the foot of the barricade, and then sighed. 

`Megatron: Skywarp, take me to the other side of this barricade.`

`Skywarp: Is that necessary?`

``

``

`Megatron: Yes.`

``

``

`Skywarp: …`

``

``

`Skywarp: On it.`

Megatron pulled the pin out of a grenade while Skywarp warped out next to him, and then grabbed another and pulled the pin out of another with his dentae as Skywarp took him across the barricade into the crowd of enforcers and soldiers on the other side. He threw them at what looked like the most crowded areas. Frag them; this wasn’t victory until they all lay dead at his pedes. 

“Take us back, _now!”_ he snapped at Skywarp.

“I’m tired—”

“This is not the time!” Megatron ordered, and Skywarp sighed and took them back just as the first explosion rocked through the mass of bodies. Energon sprayed like fireworks; the scent of burned metal seared the air, and then just before the shock wave hit, they were back behind the barrier.

Skywarp stared at him with optics round and wide as moons. “Did you just—?”

“Of course I did,” Megatron said. 

“Holy _scrap_ ,” Skywarp breathed. “I’m going back.”

“I’ll comm you when I need you,” Megatron said. “Do what you can.”

Skywarp warped away, and Megatron grabbed the handgun he’d picked and scaled the barricade to take some potshots while the enforcers were distracted. 

* * *

`Megatron: Next location?`

`Impactor: We’re getting slagged out here at the gate. `

``

``

`Megatron: Skywarp?`

``

``

`Skywarp: I’ll be ri 01001111 01010111 00100001`

``

``

`Starscream: We’re busy. Walk.`

``

``

`Megatron: … `

``

``

`Megatron: Do you need help?`

``

``

`Starscream: We can handle it.`

``

``

`Ravage: They need help.`

``

``

`Skywarp: I’ll be there.`

Skywarp warped to Megatron again, but this time the Seeker’s wing was badly twisted. Megatron didn’t stare; he’d seen worse. Orion, at his side, sucked in a quick, horrified vent before he vanished in a purple haze as Skywarp warped Megatron to the next hot zone.

The barricade had fallen on this street, and soldiers flooded the area. Megatron took one look and realized they needed fallbacks for this situation. “Skywarp. Get your your trine and watch my back.”

Skywarp blinked at him, and Megatron snarled, _“Now!_ ” The Seeker looked dazed with pain, but he warped away, so Megatron hoped that was good enough. Sure enough, the three of them appeared behind him instants later. 

`Megatron: Soundwave. Make sure this message gets to everyone.`

`Megatron: Start barricading the streets behind the barricades that are holding. Have the ones who don’t or can’t fight build them. We need fallbacks.`

A pause, and then Megatron saw motion out of the corners of his optics. 

``

``

`Soundwave: It is done.`

Someone shot at his shoulder, and he snapped back to focus. He stopped looking at his comm and charged the army. 

He would win. 

He didn’t have any other option.

And there could be no victory until they all lay dead at his pedes.

* * *

`Thundercracker: Primus.`

`Starscream: We could have done that.`

``

``

`Orion Pax: What happened?`

``

``

`Thundercracker: Megatron just broke an army. `

``

``

`Starscream: We could have done that!`

``

``

`Thundercracker: …`

``

``

`Thundercracker: No, Starscream.`

``

``

`Thundercracker: We really couldn’t.`

* * *

Megatron let himself stand motionless for a moment, venting hard, fans working overtime to deal with the stress he was putting on his systems, and then he turned his attention back to the task at hand. 

`Megatron: Impactor. Your situation?`

Silence over the comms.

`Megatron: Impactor, come in.`

`Megatron: Anyone have contact with Impactor?`

``

``

`Skywarp: This whole area’s on slagging fire. `

``

``

`Skywarp: Slag slag slag sl01100001 01100111`

``

``

`Megatron: Be right there.`

``

``

`Skwarp: No. Stay where you are. I’m 01100110 01110010 01100001 01100111`

``

``

`Skwarp: I’m on my way.`

When Skywarp warped in, Megatron almost didn’t recognize him. He was blackened with ash and glowing with energon; one of his optics were cracked. 

“You warp into an explosion?” Megatron asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” Skywarp said, voice tinged with static, before grabbing his arm and warping Megatron into what was easily the worst disaster area he’d seen so far. Flames crackled at the buildings. The remains of the gate, once part of Kaon’s infrastructure, blocked the street with twisted chunks of metal, and beneath it Megatron could make out the twisted, mangled bodies of mechs who had been unfortunate enough to be caught in whatever blast had decimated it; smoke masked the shapes of friend and foe, turning everyone alike into smudges of red and blue and violet and black. Cries and moans filled the air where the screams and battle cries and the staccato of gunfire didn’t. Megatron had to offline his olfactory sensors before the reek of burnt metal and fried energon made him purge his tanks.

He noted with some pride that though the gate had fallen, the four barricades behind it kept the Senate’s army out. 

He noted with distinctly less pride that it also trapped his own people between walls and soldiers. 

`Megatron: Soundwave. Relay the message.`

`Megatron: Use the buildings to our advantage. This is our city, not theirs. Don’t stay in the open if you don’t have to.`

``

``

`Soundwave: It is done.`

Megatron gritted his dentae and looked around, optics narrowed against the smoke. He picked a direction.

He charged.

`Megatron: Soundwave, relay the message.`

`Megatron: All of ours between the gate and the barricades, drop to the ground. I’m going to kill anyone still standing.`

``

``

`Soundwave: You will make yourself a target.`

``

``

`Megatron: No I won't. Relay the message.`

Around him, bodies dropped to the ground. Megatron followed suit, collapsing to the ground next to someone’s severed helm. He was disturbed at how exhausted he was; the dead mech staring blankly at him with dark optics didn’t even faze him, and didn’t take the edge off the relief he felt at not _standing_ , just for a moment. 

The blaster bolts didn’t stop arcing through the smoke, and Megatron could hear as they made contact with bodies.

Because the smoke turned every mech into smudges of black and violet and blue and red.

`Soundwave: It is done.`

Megatron propped himself up on his forearms, elbow joints in someone else’s energon and took aim at anyone he could see walking around. Panic laced the yells from the enforcers as they turned on one another in their blinded haze.

`Megatron: Soundwave, relay the message.`

`Megatron: Shoot at anyone still standing. If you have injured, wait until we can clear the area before you move them.`

``

``

`Soundwave: It is done.`

``

``

`Megatron: Impactor, do you still function?`

``

``

`Impactor: 01011001 01100101 01110011 00101110`

Megatron translated in his head. _Yes._

` Megatron: Where are you?`

`Impactor: N 01100101 01100001 r the foundations of th 01100101 gate.`

`Impactor: I don’t th 01101001 nk you can move me.`

``

``

`Impactor: The explosion fragged me up,`

``

``

`Megatron: Stay functional.`

``

``

`Impactor: Don’t think ab 01101111 01110101 01110100 me.`

``

``

`Impactor: Just make sure we win.`

``

``

`Megatron: Skywarp, bring me to the next hot spot.`

``

``

` Skywarp: Will do.`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ` Skywarp: I’ll be ri 01001111 01010111 00100001`  
> translation: `Skywarp: I'll be ri OW!`
> 
> `Skywarp: Slag slag slag sl01100001 01100111`  
> translation: ` Skywarp: Slag slag slag slag slag`
> 
> `Skwarp: No. Stay where you are. I’m 01100110 01110010 01100001 01100111`  
> translation: `Skywarp: No. Stay where you are. I'm FRAG`
> 
> `Impactor: 01011001 01100101 01110011 00101110`  
> translation: `Impactor: yes.`
> 
> `Impactor: N 01100101 01100001 r the foundations of th 01100101 gate.`  
> translation: `Impactor: Near the foundations of the gate.`
> 
> `Impactor: I don’t th 01101001 nk you can move me. `  
> translation: `Impactor: I don't think you can move me.`
> 
> `Impactor: Don’t think ab 01101111 01110101 01110100 me.`  
> translation: `Impactor: Don't think about me.`


	16. Chainlink: Blaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of the Chainlink arc!

By nightfall, seven of the major barricades had fallen.

By midnight, Megatron collapsed, exhausted, and woke a cycle later in their command building, Soundwave at his side. He refuelled, rested, and then forced himself back on his feet and back into the fray.

And by sunrise, the city was theirs.

* * *

“This isn’t over,” Megatron said, trying to keep the deep exhaustion out of his voice as he addressed the crowd. “We have won, but not forever. If we are to keep this, we need to be vigilant. There is no doubt that the Senate will come back in force once more.”

His vocal processor frizzed, words crackling as they came out, but they came out audible, and that was enough. 

“They have tried to take everything from us. Yesterday, we showed them that they cannot.”

“Today, we must show them that they _never can_. Not again.”

He paused, collecting his thoughts. “This is the beginning, not the end. Tomorrow, we open negotiations. Tomorrow, we use this as leverage. The senate will have to listen to us, and if they don’t, then we do not stop. We have proven here—we have proven, in a day and a night—that we can beat them. They claim that they are the most powerful. They claim that this was impossible.” 

“Well, we have proven that we can _do_ the impossible!”

The crowd cheered, and Megatron waited for them to quiet down before he continued. When he did, he sounded sober and grim, and finally he could let just a bit of the cables-deep tiredness suffusing his frame color his voice.

“They will condemn us. They will tell the rest of Cybertron that we are aggressors, criminals. They will use our dead as their props, flash images of our friends and comrades on their news channels and call them our victims. Our casualties will be their fuel. They will use everything we are against us.”

“They will make us look like the worst kind of evil.”

“We need to hold strong in the face of that. We are Decepticons, and we are going to win our equality. Through fire, through force, through pain and energon and sorrow and war, if it comes to that, but we will be victorious. If we hold together. If we stand strong.”

“But we must be prepared for every eventuality.”

He hit his fist on the crate serving as his podium. “I will not see us fall to division after this victory! We _have no choice_ but to win, do you understand? This victory doesn’t just mean equality for us. It sets a precedent. If we can force the Senate to listen—and we _can_ , now—then they have to listen to all of us. Whatever we win, we win it for all of us, everywhere.”

The crowd cheered, and Megatron grinned.

And then they took up a chant, one they’d come up with late last night. _“All hail Megatron! All hail Megatron!”_

A warm flush of pride rising in Megatron’s chest, he turned back to the people.

“We will be victorious!”

The crowd screaming his name, Megatron descended the makeshift stage. Frag, he could really go for a recharge cycle.

* * *

“The Senate has accepted our request for negotiations,” Soundwave said later.

“What do the numbers look like?” Orion asked, glancing down at Megatron’s recharging form. 

Soundwave was silent for a moment. “Two hundred seventy seven in our favor. Two hundred twenty three against.”

“Not the best odds,” Orion said.

“I agree,” Soundwave said. “We also need to be prepared for an ambush, or another attack on Kaon while Megatron is away.”

“I’m going with him,” Orion said.

“We would not have allowed you to stay back,” Soundwave agreed. “You are an enforcer. Your presence will lend an aspect of legitimacy to our cause that the Senate will respect far more than our ideals.”

Orion thought for a moment. “That leaves us with the problem of who is in command with the both of us gone.”

“Myself and a few of the more resourceful mechs from the barricades are already separating into a command structure,” Soundwave said coolly. “Megatron leads us, and you help. But we will not be helpless without you.”

“Good,” Orion said, and Soundwave inclined his head in calm agreement. 

* * *

Megatron awoke nearly a full solar cycle later, and immediately insisted upon flinging himself back into his work. He joined the groups of soldiers manning the barricades, cycling through them, speaking to the Decepticons who had joined him, smiling and joking with his soldiers. They trusted him, Orion realized, but more than that, they idolized him. They spoke of the first fallen barricade, and Megatron’s decimation of the army there, in hushed tones that bordered on reverent. They whispered about watching him fight in the arena. They talked about the gate, and how Megatron’s quick thinking had turned the enforcers on themselves while the Decepticons watched in amazement. They were all Decepticons—Megatron was _the_ Decepticon.

And Megatron loved it. He glowed with pride while they told stories about him, accepting his meteoric status among the Decepticons as though it were his due. 

And it was, Orion supposed—but he didn’t think that exalting one mech would lead to anything good.

* * *

“Has Impactor woken up yet?” Megatron asked, shouldering his way into the command building. “I need to speak with him. Something went wrong at the gate, before the explosion—I need to know what it was.”

“He’s still offline,” Orion said. “The damage to his chest and processor was severe.”

Megatron slumped, and suddenly he looked like he was about to fall over. Orion suddenly realized that it was was nothing but charisma and a smile keeping him from looking like he was about to offline on the spot. “Are you doing alright, Megatron? You look exhausted.”

“I’m solving problems,” Megatron said. “You know where my camera is?”

“Your camera?”

“Yeah; I need it,” Megatron said. “I need someone to bring Impactor online as fast as possible. Hey, Soundwave?”

Soundwave glanced up.

“Do you have Knockout’s comm information?”

“Yes. I’ll send it to you,” Soundwave said. 

“Orion, keep an optic on Knockout,” Megatron said, and then paused. “Actually, never mind that. Soundwave, have Ravage keep Knockout in line. He knows better than to cross you or your symbionts.”

“Acknowledged,” Soundwave said, and turned back to his wall-to-wall data array. 

Megatron forced himself to stand straighter with an effort of will that Orion could see from where he stood, and then grinned at Orion. “I’m going to grab my camera; do you happen to know where Thundercracker is?”

Orion raised his optic ridges. “You don’t know where your camera is.”

“I’ll find it,” Megatron said. 

Orion sighed. “Megatron, you need to rest. We’re going to meet with the Senate later. You have to be—”

“We’re going to meet with the Senate in how long?”

“In a sol—” Orion started, and then paused. “We told you about this earlier, Megatron, remember?”

“Right,” Megatron said, and paused. “In a solar cycle and a half.”

“Yes.”

“I knew that,” Megatron said.

“Megatron, how many alerts are telling you you’re low on power right now?”

“Only eight,” Megatron said. “I still have another three cycles in me, it’s fine.”

Orion stared at him in horror. _Eight?_

“What?”

“ _Eight_ low power alerts?”

“I’m fine until it gets to twenty-two and I stop speaking in full sentences,” Megatron said lightly.

“Do you _hear_ yourself?” Orion said. “Megatron, what the _frag_?”

Megatron shrugged. “I’m too busy. Where did you say my camera was?”

Orion sighed. “Megatron. Go recharge.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Megatron said. “There are too many problems, too many things going wrong that need to be taken care of. Did you know that the boundary between the seventh street datapad factory and the energon refinery was in shambles this morning? I had to oversee reconstruction, and between me and the two Constructicons, sure, we managed to get it back together, but _did you know that_?”

Orion shook his head.

“Exactly. We _can’t_ rest. Things aren’t efficient enough yet.”

The door opened, and Thundercracker poked his head in. “You called me?”

“I need to film a speech,” Megatron said. 

“Why do you need me?” Thundercracker asked, voice flat.

“He doesn’t,” Orion said. “He needs to recharge.”

“I’m _fine_ , Orion,” Megatron said. “Want to handle the camera work, Thundercracker?”

“Uh, sure,” Thundercracker said.

“Do _not_ ,” Orion said.

Thundercracker let out a little laugh. “Megatron, where’s the camera? Where are we doing this?”

Orion sighed.

“Follow me,” Megatron said. “I have an idea.”

* * *

Proteus scowled down at the datapad in his hand.

“Suppress this video,” he snapped to his personal aide. 

On the screen, Megatron, who was _not_ supposed to be this politically savvy, stared out with the easy grin of someone who was trying to hard. He had to be trying too hard. This was a _miner_ , for Primus’s sake. His successes had to be accidents. 

_“You mechs who live in the dirt in the shadows of the Senate, look to Kaon and see what we have done. This is victory, clear and simple. You who live in the other cities, you can see the claws of the Senate closing in. They lost us, so they hope to strangle you, to keep you under their pedes and in the palms of their servos.”_

_“Slip through the cracks between their digits. Come to us. Join us. Help us. They say that we are your enemy, that we are evil.”_

_“But know this: you are being deceived. We are Decepticons, and we will bring the truth to the light. Join us, and we will bring this all down around us. We will end our oppression!”_

Proteus thought, for a split second, that picking this Megatron may have been a bad idea. He seemed to be building a fairly solid framework for a full-fledged revolution. He let out a low growl, and his aide snapped to attention.

“We’re working on the video, sir,” the disposable said nervously.

“See that it _never_ gets to the public,” Proteus snapped.

* * *

Within a half a cycle, the video was everywhere.

Within three cycles, it was scrubbed from the nets.

A klik after that, it was released again by someone from Polyhex. Someone from Tarn. Someone from Vos.

The people would not be silenced.

Megatron looked down at the news feed playing on the datapad in his hands, and he grinned.


	17. Chainlink: Burnout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things which are bad: happen  
> things which are worse: will happen
> 
> stay tuned, folks

Orion forced the Seeker trine and Megatron to all get cleaned up and polished for their meeting with the Senate.

All four of them complained.

“We need them to respect us,” Orion eventually huffed, as Megatron unequivocally refused to fix his paint for the fifth time. “If we look scruffy, they’re going to use it as an excuse to ignore us. You _know_ that.”

Megatron gave Orion a flat look. “They don’t have the luxury of ignoring us. We hold the power, for now.”

“Evidently we _don’t_ ,” Orion said. “Seeing as we’re bringing Skywarp solely so we can get out if we need to. Seeing as we’re negotiating in the first place. If we were in control, here, we wouldn’t have to talk to them and you know that. Get the burned patches off of your finish.”

Megatron sighed. “I don’t want to do this just so that they’ll listen,” he said, eyes dark. “I don’t want to be at their whims again. Even just in image only.” 

_Oh._ “Are you sure you want to come along?”

“It’s not like I have any other choice. I’m the face of the Decepticon movement. They’ll be waiting for me, personally.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to go.”

Megatron smirked. “Sure it doesn’t, Orion. Go do what you need to do.”

“What I need to do is make sure you fix your paint.”

Megatron made a face and grabbed the paint pot out of Orion’s hand. “Fine. I;’m sure you still have other things to do.”

Orion went up on the tips of his pedes to kiss Megatron square on the lips before he left, and was gratified to watch the gladiator’s optics go wide with surprise.

* * *

“I am not certain this is wise,” Soundwave said. “I know you say there isn’t another choice—”

“That’s because there isn’t,” Orion agreed.

“—but I think you need to remember Megatron before you walk into whatever the Senate has planned,” Soundwave finished, sounding vaguely miffed. “I still haven’t found out what they even did to him.”

“It wasn’t shadowplay.” Orion said. “That’s always far more drastic.”

“There are more things than just shadowplay in the world,” Soundwave said. “I am trying to point out that this may not be the best idea. You intend to take our entire command structure—”

“Yourself and your symbionts excluded, of course—”

“—into Iacon, into the _heart of the Senate_ , and you do not worry that they would allow such a thing?”

“We control a city. They have to negotiate with us.”

“Do they?” Soundwave said. “I do not trust it.”

“I’m not comfortable with this either,” Orion said. “But we don’t have a choice.”

Soundwave gave Orion a flat look and turned back to the data array. “Be clever.”

“We will,” Orion said, and left.

* * *

Starscream and his trine turned up positively gleaming, like jewels in the sunlight.

Orion’s shine paled in comparison to them, but Megatron still appreciated the gleam that the former enforcer had gotten on his plating.

Megatron had done the absolute bare minimum. He refused to let the Senate dictate what he looked like, even if only proximally. Orion sighed when he saw him. 

“Did you do _anything_?”

“I repainted my plating,” Megatron said.

Starscream muttered something inaudible to his trine, and all three of them broke out into laughter. Megatron studiously ignored them. 

“Skywarp?”

“Take us into the Senate?” Skywarp said. “Sure, one sec—”

“ _Not_ into the Senate,” Megatron said quickly.

Orion cocked his head. 

“Two blocks away,” Megatron clarified. “We don’t want to give away our advantages, and you’re a huge one, Skywarp. Your abilities are very useful to us.”

“We’re going to have to walk in.”

“So?” Megatron said. “We make our entrance dramatically or not at all.”

Starscream muttered something else, and Thundercracker smacked a hand over his servo to keep from laughing. Megatron gave the three of them a _look_ , one of the ones he’d practiced in his tenure in the gladiator pits, and the Seeker fell silent.

“Skywarp?” Megatron said imperiously.

Skywarp sighed and held out a hand. “All of you, grab on.”

Megatron did so, waiting to make sure that the rest of them did as well before Skywarp sighed and dragged the five of them across the planet with a signature whop-whop.

* * *

They walked to the Senate building nervously, and then Megatron grinned roguishly at the four of them and kicked the door open with one massive pede. It snapped open with a thunderous crash, and all conversation inside stopped as Megatron strolled in as though he owned the place. Plastering on a confident expression, Orion followed in his wake, the Seekers walking beside him.

Orion had only been inside the senate building once or twice before, and never in a situation like this. Optics from every side gazed down angrily, glaring and furious far from friendly. There were so many mechs in the seats around the room that Orion started to feel self-conscious, despite the fact that he’d never feared attention before. This entire room was filled to the brim with hostility, and Megatron and his Decepticon rebellion was the cause of it.

Starscream grinned at him out of the corner of his optic, and Orion grinned back, and suddenly he knew that they would come out on top. The Senate couldn’t handle them. They would triumph.

A mech, looking just a bit startled, climbed down from the seating to face them. He had blue, red and gold plating, and a very cold look on his face. “I’m Senator Proteus. Hello, Decepticons.”

* * *

Soundwave gazed down at the datapad he was reading and tried not to frown under his mask. Again it mentioned this _chainlink procedure_ in these vague terms. Again it referenced _something_ being done to Megatron.

Again it didn’t say _what_.

Soundwave set the pad down on the desk once more and sighed, turning back to the data array. 

He had more pressing matters to attend to.

* * *

Megatron stopped short, and Orion glanced at him before stepping forwards himself. “It’s good to meet you, Senator—”

“You?” Megatron breathed.

Orion turned, confused, to see Megatron’s eyes wider than he’d seen them in his entire function. He looked as though he’d been hit in the face with a brick; stunned, confused, and just a hint afraid.

Orion suddenly had a very bad feeling. “We’re here to discuss rights for the lower classes,” he said, ignoring Megatron for now and hoping that they could wrap this up fast enough that he could make sure everything was alright.

“No, you’re not,” Senator Proteus said dryly. “You’re here because we wanted you here.”

Orion had a _very_ bad feeling. “Skywarp—”

“Chainlink,” Senator Proteus said coolly.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Thundercracker snapped.

Orion had a very bad feeling. A very bad feeling. Like someone had just yanked the ground out from under his pedes. There was an ice cold line of sensation trailing down his backstrut and pooling in his torso. Something was very wrong here. “Skywarp, take us—”

“Kill them,” Proteus said, voice calm and ice cold as ever.

“Skywarp, get us out of here!” Orion finally snapped, and then something very loud and very bright happened next to him, and suddenly he was lying on the floor with his face at someone’s pedes, and Megatron was standing over him, but his face was blank, horribly blank, and he couldn’t see the Seekers—

He heard a whop-whop sound and saw a flash of purple, and he tried to stand up to follow them only for four alerts to flash across his HUD. 

_Warning: damage to spark casing. Warning: damage to fuel tanks. Warning: damage. Warning: damage_.

He looked down at his chest, trying to see what happened. Bizarrely, energon was splattered across his plating and the floor. Had someone gotten shot over him? His thoughts felt slow and sluggish, like he wasn’t comprehending things properly.

 _Oh. I’ve been shot,_ Orion realized blankly. It seemed distant. It didn’t even hurt, really. He was just… very cold.

* * *

“And as you can see,” Proteus said to the rest of the Senate, gesturing at the mech at his side, “my scientists’ chainlink procedure is a viable means of creating sleeper agents. If I could, with one word, turn Megatron the Decepticon on his own second-in-command, imagine what it could do to our opponents? We will be unstoppable. Think on this and remember it. The procedure and the project will be put to a vote in one decacycle.”

He made sure to kick the cooling body of Orion Pax as he left the Senate floor. The soon-to-be-deceased Decepticon had been no small pain in his aft for far too long.

It was good that that was over now. Nothing could stand in Proteus’s way now, not with the way things were headed. He would control the entirety of Cybertron, and his enemies would all fall before him.


	18. Chainlink: Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proteus puts his new puppet to use.  
> Soundwave finally uses the last, most important clue to-- _finally_ \--find out what Project Forging Chains _is_.  
>  Ratchet learns a few things about a friend of his in a way he never wanted to. 
> 
> The final segment of the Chainlink Arc is here!

Soundwave was monitoring the radio frequencies when the broadcast came on.

At first he thought it was a mistake; that, perhaps, he’d pressed the wrong button, or that he had maybe the data array had a pop-up error. 

Then the seal of the Senate played, and Soundwave’s spark dropped to his pedes. That wasn’t a good sign. There was nothing to televise about peace negotiations, certainly not this early; they just looked like a discussion—

But that didn’t _matter_ , because this very clearly was not a peace negotiation. 

_“Skywarp, take—_ ” Orion Pax said, optics flaring.

_“Kill them_ ,” Proteus ordered someone, and Soundwave felt a cold trickle of fear creep its way down his backstrut. They would be fine. They had Skywarp and Megatron, and all five of them were perfectly proficient at self-defense—

His thought process ground to a shuddering halt as _Megatron, Megatron himself, their Megatron,_ lifted his gun and pressed it to the front of Orion Pax’s armor and pulled the trigger, and energon traced violet arcs through the air between them and the camera and Megatron, it was splatting on Megatron’s armor but this was _not the way_ , and Soundwave still couldn’t see his face at the angle the video was being taken, and then the Seekers warped into the room looking just as shell-shocked as Soundwave felt, and, and the broadcast didn’t end, not yet, because first Soundwave had to see the Senator— _Proteus,_ a little voice in the back of his processor that sounded uncomfortably like Ratbat informed him hollowly—first Soundwave had to see the Senator kick Orion’s already-greying body, on the screen, and then he stood and faced the camera, and he ordered Megatron to kneel, and he _did_ —

And then the recording was over, and the screen turned itself off, and Soundwave pulled himself together with a few slow vents, because _someone_ needed to be held together, and he lifted his helm up to face the three Decepticons who had made it back.

Skywarp looked stunned, as though the horror hadn’t sunk in yet, and his thoughts kept fizzing and then switching back to the look on Orion’s face as he realized what had happened, and it _hurt_. Thundercracker had beads of solvent streaming from his wide optics, and his mind was almost blank. Somehow that was worse. 

And Starscream looked and sounded as though he was about to run off, which was not an option, because this was _bad news_ , and Soundwave had functioned long enough to know that something like _this_ was only the beginning.

Soundwave reached out for his cassettes’ thoughts to steady himself and found only confused horror on the other end. 

He would pull himself together. There was no other choice. Megatron would have done so, and so Soundwave needed to do what needed to be done until Megatron could—

Until Megatron could _what?_ Megatron had betrayed them.

“Starscream,” said Soundwave, because Starscream was the least hysterical. “Report. What happened?”

Starscream vented shakily. “He—the Senator, whoever the frag he was—he said something to Megatron, and then he, he, he,” and his vocalizer spat static as Starscream wrenched his gaze to the floor. 

“He gave Megatron an order,” Soundwave prompted.

“No—before that,” Skywarp said, thoughts ripping down the middle and spilling out the scene again. “He—I don’t remember what the word was.”

“Chainlink,” Starscream said. “Like the fence. And then Megatron—he—”

“He betrayed us,” Soundwave said, trying not to sound as horrified as he felt. “He betrayed us all.”

“I’m going to _kill him,”_ Starscream snarled, and Soundwave realized that their entire command structure was going to get itself slagged by the greatest gladiator of Kaon should they ever see him again.

Let him come. 

Soundwave would give as good as he got and then some.

* * *

Ratchet’s eyes were glued to the screen. 

Mostly because Rodion’s Dead End was almost as bad off as Kaon, albeit smaller, and he wanted to see what was in his immediate future; so when the seal of the Council came on and he’d already had a spare moment, he sat down and watched curiously.

And for some fragging reason, _Orion Pax_ was there. Standing with the Decepticon high command. No—he was _part of_ the Decepticon high command, Ratchet realized abruptly. 

_“Skywarp, take—_ ” Orion said. Ratchet didn’t like the look on his face. It was never good to see a friend look that… _scared._

_“Kill them_ ,” the multicolored senator talking to them said to the mech just behind Orion. It had to be Megatron. The Slagmaker. The butcher of Kaon, or whatever sensationalist, nonsensical epithets they wanted to give him for his part in the Decepticon uprising. 

Surely Megatron wouldn’t—

But the purple Decepticon started to fizz out, and Orion screamed something, but it was lost in a percussive blat as Megatron wordlessly lifted his gun to the front of Orion’s chest and pulled the trigger, fast, smooth, like he’d never had a second thought about it in his life. 

_Frag_ , that was bad, there was a crater the size of Ratchet’s servo in Orion’s chest, and from the leakage pattern it looked to have severed all the way through, there was no way taht he wasn’t leaking like a space ship with a fractured viewport. Orion collapsed to the ground in his own energon, staring up with what Ratchet could see was a confused look that slowly morphed into a horrified, _betrayed_ expression. 

Ratchet hit the power button on the datapad, and it did not turn off.

On the screen, the Senator walked past Orion, and kicked him in the side with a hollow clang, and Ratchet winced. Orion needed medical attention, not further physical trauma.

But they were going to let him expire there.

Because he was a Decepticon. 

How had Ratchet not know that?

_“Kneel,_ ” the Senator said to Megatron, and the massive energon-coated silver mech did, and then the pad turned itself off. 

“Drift!” Ratchet called down the hall.

Drift didn’t answer, so Ratchet took a breath and stood up, wincing at the whine in his motors. He needed to recharge soon. But first there was something to take care of. 

“Drift, where the _frag—?”_

“Did you see it?” Drift said, voice hollow, coming from a storage closet. “The—”

“The transmission?” Ratchet asked, stepping carefully into the room.

“Yeah,” Drift said.

“Yeah.”

“They shot Orion Pax,” Drift said. “ _Megatron_ —he shot Orion Pax.”

“I saw,” Ratchet said. “We’re going to do something about it.”

* * *

The word _chainlink_ turned up a whole array of data that Soundwave never wanted to look at with his own optics ever again.

_Reprogramming. Torture regimen. Sleeper agents. Savior response._

It wasn’t shadowplay, because shadowplay wasn’t this subtle. It was something else entirely, something that they wanted that could slip unnoticed past even the closest friends of one of their victims.

Soundwave had far too easily been taken in. He’d _known_ there was something off about Megatron. But he’d assumed that it was—

Ravage jumped onto his datapad and sat there. “Soundwave, what’s wrong?”

Soundwave inclined his head in the way that he and his cassettes both knew constituted a grin from another mech. Ravage wasn’t convinced, but that was alright, because Soundwave wasn’t being very convincing. “Megatron was…reprogrammed.”

“No he wasn’t,” Ravage said. “Shadowplay isn’t that subtle. You’d have known.”

That hit harder than Soundwave would have expected it to. “Not shadowplay. Something else, something experimental. It’s on the datapad.”

Ravage stood up, giving it an appraising look. “Do we have copies of the data?” 

Soundwave got an inkling of what Ravage was planning, but then Ravage buried the thought and Soundwave wasn’t going to pry, so instead, somewhat bemusedly, he nodded.

Ravage pushed the datapad off the table and to the floor.

It shattered.

Surprised, Soundwave let out a short laugh, and Ravage’s warm relief suffused their bond. “We have more important things to handle than why Megatron turned on us,” the cassette said. “We need you to be working on that with us, Soundwave.” 

Soundwave nodded, hearing the broken glass crunch on the floor. It sounded strangely distant, almost. He shook his head, resetting his audials. He probably needed to recharge—

That was about when the screaming started.

* * *

This was a nightmare.

_And it’s getting worse_ , Thundercracker thought, staring in horror at the leveled barricade. _It was going to be a slaughter._

“Megatron!” someone yelled—a Decepticon, had to be, they sounded cautiously hopeful, and no, no, no, he still kept seeing Orion’s surprised face every time he shuttered his optics, no, no, no, no, no—

—and the silver mech leading the army of Senate enforcers wordlessly brought up his blaster and shot the mech full in the face, and he fell, and _no, no, no, no, no—_

There was Soundwave’s cassette, Ravage, running full-tilt at where they were, and _no no no_ , Thundercracker couldn’t handle this, he _couldn’t_ , but Ravage didn’t fall under gunfire, he didn’t come up near Megatron—

And then the cassette bowled him over, and he realized that Megatron was never Ravage’s goal. “You have a private comm to Skywarp?”

Thundercracker nodded mutely. _No, no, no, we can’t lose him, I can’t, I can’t lose everyone—_

“Call him here, _now_ ,” Ravage snapped, and Thundercracker stared up at the sky and saw Orion’s face in the shadows.

`Thundercracker: Skywarp. First barricade at the old gate.`

`Thundecracker: Skywarp, get here now.`

`Thundercracker: Skywarp, are you listening?`

And then he stopped, because Skywarp’s signature vwop-vwop was sounding right in his ears, and then Skywarp looked down and murmured “Oh, frag,” in the tone of voice he usually reserved for serious injuries, and warped away again.

“Tell him not to bring Starscream,” Ravage said quickly. “That’s a recipe for disaster—don’t let him bring Starscream.”

`Thundercracker: Skywarp, don’t bring Starscream.`

`Skywarp: I’m not stupid.`

`Skywarp: Maybe a little stupid, but not that stupid.`

`Skywarp: I’m getting Soundwave.`

“He’s getting Soundwave,” Thundercracker said. 

“Tell him to bring Rumble,” Ravage said instead.

`Thundercracker: Ravage says to bring Rumble.`

`Skywarp: One of the minicons? `

`Skywarp: He’s going to get slagged.`

`Thundercracker: I’m just telling you what Ravage told me.`

`Skywarp: You were with him for most of the Battle of Kaon. You trust his call?`

`Thundercracker: I don’t know. But he knows the rest of Soundwave’s cassettes. `

`Thundercracker: I trust him on this.`

`Skywarp: On it.`

A moment later, Skywarp materialized with Rumble, who gave the two of them a little wave and then turned his attention out to the disaster unfolding below with a little sigh. “Ravage?”

“I know,” Ravage said. 

Rumble stepped out from where the four of them were clustered behind a discarded chunk of rubble. A half a moment later, Thundercracker heard a ping go off on his comms. High priority, and something was overridden to make it flash across the top of his HUD even though he’d disabled that years ago. 

Just like during the Battle of Kaon.

`Soundwave: To all Decepticons.```

`Soundwave: Clear the streets.`

`Soundwave: You have one half klik.`

Rumble cracked a grin and waved a hand at them. “Go get under something sturdy.”

“Skywarp,” said Ravage. “Back to Soundwave.”

Skywarp warped them away with a vwop and a crackle of purple energy, and they reappeared in the command center again.

Less than a klik later, a massive shock wave ripped through the room, shaking the furniture and sending lights careening from the ceiling. Thundercracker got hit in the face with an unexpected chunk of durasteel, and then Soundwave stiffened and tapped Skywarp on the shoulder urgently. “Rumble. Retrieve him.”

Skywarp blinked at him. Honestly, Thundercracker couldn’t blame him. He’d never heard the mech sound so urgent before.

“Skywarp!” Ravage snapped. 

Skywarp pulled himself back together and warped away.

He didn’t return for a moment, and when he did, he had a small mech in his hands and rather too much energon on them. “I—”

Soundwave stared at the motionless minicon for a moment, and then back to Ravage. “He still functions.”

“Knockout?”

Soundwave inclined his head at Ravage, practically radiating concern. “Exactly. Hook.”

Thundercracker got the impression he was missing something. “You know,” Ravage said. “Breakdown?”

“Knockout,” Soundwave said.

“But not Hook.”

Soundwave nodded. “Skywarp, take Rumble to Knockout’s clinic and warn Knockout that _we will know if he tries anything_. Quickly.”

Skywarp looked down at the small, small, motionless body in his arms and vanished.

Ravage looked out at the windows and then tore off. “I’m going to make sure we win.”

“We’re fighting Megatron,” Soundwave said. “Do you think we have a chance?”

“ _Listen_ for him,” Ravage said. “We’re not fighting Megatron’s mind. Their tactics are too stupid for that.”

For the first time since this morning, Soundwave straightened more fully. 

`Soundwave: To all Decepticons.`

`Soundwave: We will be victorious. This is just the first in a series of tests. But we will win.`

`Soundwave: Be smart. `

`Soundwave: Be strong. `

`Soundwave: Be deadly. `

`Soundwave: We are Decepticons, and we will make them regret this.`

* * *

Ratchet rinsed his servos under the sterilized solvent, one optic on Orion’s monitor.

He was stabilized.

Ten straight cycles of work—but he would live. With a bit of luck, he would be perfectly functional again.

That is, if he ever got out of stasis lock. 


	19. Desecration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave Knows.  
> Everyone else, therefore, also needs to find out. 
> 
> also known as: obligatory reactions chapter from Decepticon High Command  
> (Don't worry about Orion. he's still stasis-locked, and comatose, with ratchet. everyone just *thinks* he's dead. its all good)

Soundwave didn’t have the luxury of falling apart.

The three Seekers didn’t have any experience in a situation like this. To be fair, neither did Soundwave, exactly, but he was more prepared for it than the trine.

Soundwave’s cassettes looked to him for strength and support after what happened to Rumble; he couldn’t crumble on them, either. 

Orion could possibly have helped, were he here. But Orion was dead.

Impactor could possibly have helped, were he conscious. But Impactor was still stasis-locked, and he’d been in Hook’s clinic, and they hadn’t seen Hook since the latest attack. His clinic was blocked from the street. And so Impactor could have been dead, or worse. No one had coordinated a rescue effort, yet. 

Soundwave made a mental note to handle that. But for now, there was something more important to handle. 

“Excuse me. I need your attention,” he said, keeping his voice calm. He had to sound calm. As Megatron often put it, there was no other option. 

Starscream gave him a cursory look and went back to doing something to a piece of metal in the corner.

Skywarp glanced up quizzically.

Thundercracker sighed and sat down at the table.

“Starscream,” Soundwave said flatly.

Starscream looked up again. “What?”

“I need to discuss certain things with you,” Soundwave said. “Namely, Megatron.”

Starscream instantly snapped to attention. “Did you find him?”

“That is not what I need to discuss,” Soundwave said, as calmly as he could. “Starscream. Sit down.”

Starscream shot him a venomous look and did as he was told. “We should kill him.”

“Starscream, _shut_ up,” Skywarp said. 

“What _are_ you going to talk about?” Thundercracker asked, shooting a warning look at his trinemates.

“Megatron,” Soundwave said. “And the Senate.”

Starscream finally settled down as Soundwave turned to the data array, pulling up files and his notes on them. “Megatron was not a willing party in the events of the past two solar cycles,” he said.

Starscream looked unimpressed; Skywarp looked bored. “Blackmail—” Thundercracker said, glanced at the data on the board, squinted, and then froze. “Shadowplay isn’t that subtle. We’d have noticed.”

Starscream gave him a curious look and leaned forwards ever so slightly, wings twitching upwards in interest. Soundwave could see the moment when Starscream hit on the first word. “This is about what the Senator said, isn’t it. I knew something was off.”

“This is the first of many documents,” Soundwave said.

“Are they worse?” Thundercracker asked.

“By orders of magnitude,” Soundwave said, and he still sounded calm, he thought. He was proud of that. It was something to be proud of, after all. 

“There’s no way they did this,” Starscream scoffed. “Shadowplay isn’t subtle enough to have gotten past us—”

“Star, this wasn’t shadowplay,” Thundercracker said lowly.

“It says they shadowplayed him right there,” Starscream said.

Skywarp proceeded to stare at the table like it held the mysteries of the universe.

“Soundwave, what is this?” Thundercracker finally said.

Soundwave paused for a moment to make sure he held his voice steady. “This is all of the documentation I could find on a secret Senate project,” he said. “They’re calling it the Chainlink Procedure.”

There was a moment of silence, and then— 

“And what does that mean?” Skywarp finally spoke up. The normally flippant Seeker sounded just as flippant as usual, but there was an undercurrent of horror that spiked in his mind, and Soundwave accepted that he was paying just as much attention as the other two were, despite his disinterested appearance. 

“I’ll explain,” Soundwave said, before either of the other two Seekers could start in with what little they’d managed to glean from the notes Soundwave had pulled up on the board. 

* * *

“It is,” Soundwave said, reading off of the screen because that made it _easier_ , “a project that the Senate had originally hoped they could solve with shadowplay. But shadowplay, as we all know, is not subtle.”

“So?” Starscream said impatiently. Soundwave patiently ignored him.

“When this failed, the Senate turned to other means,” Soundwave said. “Behavioral reprogramming via stimulus rather than mnemosurgery.”

Skywarp and Thundercracker pulsed identical waves of confusion, but Starscream, slowly, started to realize what Soundwave meant, if the way he was feeling was anything to go by.

“They called it a savior trigger,” Soundwave said, and his voice was steady, and he didn’t think of the number of times he’d heard Megatron think of his ‘savior.’ “The goal was to force anti-functionalists to obey a certain mech, and to do as they commanded.”

“Proteus,” Starscream said. 

Thundercracker was starting to get it, too. Soundwave wasn’t sure about Skywarp.

“Yes,” Soundwave said. “Precisely.”

“Which is why Megatron reacted like that,” Starscream said.

“Yes,” Soundwave said again.

“Why didn’t we notice?” Starscream said.

“That was the purpose of the procedure,” Soundwave said, and if his voice wavered ever so slightly, none of the Seekers responded to it, so it didn’t matter. He clamped down on his vocal processor until he was certain he would sound calm. One of them needed to be. “They wanted a sleeper agent.”

“We should never have let him come to the Senate with us,” Skywarp said, staring at the table blankly. “Why did we think that was a good idea?”

“Because he was our leader,” Thundercracker said. “And because he was fine. He seemed fine. Soundwave, how did they even—?”

“You can read, can’t you? It’s on the board,” Starscream snapped, but he sounded just a bit less sardonic than usual. 

“Soundwave said he would explain,” Thundercracker said. “And I don’t know that shorthand very well, I’m not—”

“They tortured him,” Starscream said. “And _shadowplayed_ him—how did we not notice that?”

Soundwave vented and then gave the three of them a _look_ , the one that usually made them stop what they were doing and act less like newsparks. “They shadowplayed him so that he would grow more easily attached to mechs who fit a certain set of characteristics. I do not know what the characteristics were, other than that it had something to do with,” Soundwave thought for a moment, pausing, “something to do with repair and fuel intake.”

Starscream gave Thundercracker a meaningful look. “What else?”

“They fueled him inadequately and tortured him,” Soundwave said. “I would not tell you this if I were not worried that it could happen to you. It would appear that Megatron was a…test subject of sorts.”

Skywarp, still staring at the table, made a noise of dissent. “They’re going to keep testing it. Megatron escaped. Why wouldn’t they…I don’t know. Shadowplay his memories away?”

Soundwave inclined his head. That was a good point. “They may have. We have no way to know if Megatron’s escape was falsified or not.”

“Oh,” Skywarp said, voice flat. “So what you’re saying is that we can’t trust anyone.”

“I am trying to explain,” Soundwave said. “But that is not what I mean. They have not yet started doing this on a scale that would provide us with any major threat.”

“Megatron isn’t a major threat?” Thundercracker said incredulously. “He killed Orion Pax! He joined the Senate!”

“The Senate likely have him in a _cell_ ,” Soundwave all but snapped, and the three Seekers looked up at him in shocked surprise.

“They what?” Starscream said eventually.

“The documentation implies that they do not think that the programming is permanent,” Soundwave said, forcing his voice back into some semblance of calmness. “Megatron very likely will be subjected to the same procedures again.”

Skywarp finally looked up. “Can we rescue him?”

“No,” Soundwave said, and his voice cracked on that notably. “We cannot afford to attack the Senate, not now. We have to defend Kaon.”

“We have to _rebuild_ Kaon,” Starscream scoffed. “It’s half in ruins.”

“Yes,” Soundwave said. “We have more pressing things to attend to than Megatron. He would understand that, if he were here.” 

_I hope._


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orion wakes up.

Orion opened his eyes to a very bright, white light.

He was definitely dead. 

He was not very happy that being dead seemed to hurt quite so much.

It felt like there was a hole in the middle of his chest— _right_ , because there _was_ , wasn’t there? Because he’d been shot. By Megatron. Primus, it would be nice if he could forget that.

He shuttered his optics at the light, shifting, and winced as the small motion sent shooting pain down his chest and up into his shoulders. He forced himself to try and sit up, and someone familiar yelled something familiar.

His audials weren’t properly online, though, so he didn’t know exactly what it was, or _who_ it was, so instead he ran a self diagnostic and hoped that being in the Afterspark wouldn’t interfere too badly with that.

Interestingly enough, the diagnostic sent back results that no, he wasn’t dead—which couldn’t necessarily be trusted, because if he were dead he wouldn’t be dead _to himself_ —but that he was half-repaired and had a chunk of metal welded to his chest. 

Which was…interesting.

He rebooted his audials, checked them, and then he rebooted them again when one of them refused to turn back on. Then they appeared to be in working order. 

Something was humming, and it was _annoying_. He really hoped he wasn’t dead. Being stuck like this forever would be absolutely awful. 

“Ratchet!” Drift yelled again, and— _oh_ , that was interesting. “He’s online again!”

“Pax?” Ratchet yelled back.

“Yeah!” Drift called.

Well, at least he wasn’t dead. 

* * *

“So. I’m alive,” Orion said blankly. He was still having a hard time wrapping his head around that one.

“Yep. You are.”

Orion looked down at his hands. “Can I have a datapad?”

“Not right yet,” Ratchet said. “Care to tell me why you joined the Decepticons, kid?”

Orion cocked his head. “What?”

“They aren’t good mechs,” Ratchet said. “I’ve heard things. I’ve _seen_ things. That Megatron of theirs…well. I guess we’ve seen what he can do, hm?”

“He shot me,” Orion said. He was still having a hard time wrapping his head around that one, too.

“On live broadcast,” Ratchet said. 

_What?_

“Oh,” Ratchet said. “Orion, you didn’t know?”

“Live broadcast,” Orion repeated. 

“The Senate was very proud of themselves,” Ratchet said. “Look, Orion, I know you must be upset that your friend turned on you, but he was a _Decepticon._ It was only to be expected, after all.”

“Ratchet,” Orion said. _“I’m_ a Decepticon.”

“You don’t count,” Ratchet scoffed.

Orion stared at him.

“Why were you even _there?”_ Ratchet asked. “Wouldn’t they have wanted you to stay back with the rest of them in Kaon?”

“Legitimacy,” Orion said. “Because the Senate would respect me more than an ex-miner and three fighter jets.”

“You can’t have been the only ex-cop the Decepticons had,” Ratchet scoffed.

“I’m the only ex-cop in command,” Orion said, and Ratchet’s optics bugged out of his head.

“You’re _what?”_

“Oh, frag,” Orion said, and stood up, and then proceeded to double over because _Primus, that hurt._

“Sit _down,”_ Ratchet ordered, and manhandled him back onto the medical berth. “Do _not_ do that again, I don’t want to have to patch you up twice. What was _that_ about?”

“We’re down to five,” Orion managed. “Impactor’s probably still stasis locked, Megatron is…a traitor, and I’m not there—so we’re down to _five_ , I need to get _back_ , Ratchet.”

“Five _what?”_ Ratchet snapped.

“Five people in command,” Orion said. 

“You weren’t kidding about that?” Ratchet said hopefully.

“No.”

“ _Frag_ , kid,” Ratchet said, slapping a servo over his eyes with a clang. “Tell me you don’t have one of those pit-damned badges, at least.”

Orion glanced down at his chest. “Looks like it’s been shot clean off,” he said. “Guess I’ll need another soon—”

“Are you _kidding?”_ Ratchet was getting pretty close to yelling. His voice had gone all hard and angry, like it always did when he thought someone was being unutterably _stupid_. “Orion, they’re _rounding up_ every Decepticon they can find. If you’re really one of their,” Ratchet paused to give him a disbelieving look, “top brass, then you need to be _hiding._ ” 

“Hiding,” Orion repeated. “They know what I look like, Ratchet. A missing badge won’t save me.”

Ratchet sighed. “I know that, Orion.”

Orion took a deep vent. “Ratchet, I have to get back somehow.”

“You do not,” Ratchet said sharply.

“As soon as I can walk,” Orion said. “I have to get back in case something happens—”

“You need _proper medical care_.”

“We have medics. We have a whole _city,_ Ratchet—”

“Your city is in _ruins!”_ Ratchet said. “Orion, kid, your rebellion didn’t _win_. They’re going to _die_ —the Senate is creating an _army_ to fight your Decepticons. You can’t go back, or you’re going to die with them!”

Orion stared at him. “Then I’ll die,” he said.

* * *

Ratchet quit arguing with him after that.

* * *

Drift slipped into the glorified closet Ratchet had stuffed him in a half hour later. 

“You’re really a big deal with the Decepticons?”

Orion nodded.

“And you’re really going to go back?”

Orion nodded again.

“Can I go with you?”

Orion blinked at him in surprise. “Of course. If that’s what you want, Drift—of course you can.”

Drift grinned at him. “Is Kaon dangerous?”

Orion shrugged. “Most likely. It’s like Rodion, but…bigger.”

“But you and Megatron, you were going to change things, right?” Drift asked. “Make things better?”

“I don’t know what Megatron was going to do,” Orion said. “I don’t think I ever knew him at all, really.”

“Oh,” Drift said. “He wrote Towards Peace, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe he didn’t believe in his own cause,” Drift muttered.

“I hope that’s not it,” Orion said.

“Think that’s _true_ , thought?” Drift asked.

Orion shrugged. “I don’t know why he turned traitor.”

Drift shrugged back, and then they sat in silence for a minute. “Did you still need a datapad?” he asked eventually.

Orion blinked at him in surprise again. “Yes. But you don’t need to get one for me if you don’t want to—”

“I want to,” Drift said. “It can be my first mission as a Decepticon.”

Despite himself, Orion had to smile at his enthusiasm.

* * *

The morning after, Orion sighed and decided to talk to Ratchet about reformatting him to look just a bit less recognizable.

Ratchet took it exactly as well as Orion expected, which was not at all.

“You want me to _what?”_

“Megatron had himself reformatted,” Orion said. 

“Megatron is _insane!”_

“That has nothing to do with whether or not you’re willing to reformat me,” Orion snapped.

“I won’t reformat you because it’s _crazy_ ,” Ratchet snapped. “Just don’t go back to your merry band of fragging terrorists! There! Problem fragging solved!”

“I can’t _abandon_ them, Ratchet,” Orion snapped back. “They’re _relying on me_.”

“Rodion was relying on you, too,” Ratchet said, gesturing at the hallway. “ _We_ aren’t going around killing mechs in the name of progress, either.”

“Here we do it in the name of the Senate,” Orion said.

“That’s reaching,” Ratchet growled.

“It’s _not_ and you know it. Ratchet, I’m not happy about how violent things had to get, either, but it was necessary. They weren’t going to _stop_.”

“You don’t know that, kid.”

“I _do_ know that now,” Orion said. “Do you think they would have even listened to us if we hadn’t grabbed their attention?”

“I don’t think they’d be gunning to _wholesale slaughter_ you all if you hadn’t, no, but that’s not a _solution! Violence_ is not a solution!”

“It’s the closest we’ve got to one!”

Ratchet sighed. “I won’t reformat you. What would you even want to be reformatted into? A tank, maybe? Perhaps a cannon? A bomber jet?”

“No!” Orion said. “Ratchet—I just want to be able to get back to my city without being _arrested._ I don’t want you to, to—”

“To weaponize you?”

“Exactly,” Orion said. 

“You might be better off that way,” Ratchet muttered. “If you’re going to throw yourself into combat like a Pit-bound fool, maybe you’d be better off as a tank or something.”

“I don’t want to be a tank,” Orion said. “I want to _help people_ , Ratchet. Not kill them. Not if I can avoid it.”

“Well, I don’t want them to kill _you_.”

“Then _help_ me,” Orion said. “Just…alter me a little. _Please,_ Ratchet.”

“If I don’t do something, you’re just going to go off and try anyway,” Ratchet said. “Right?”

“Exactly,” Orion said.

“I’ve never been able to stop you once you get an idea in your head,” Ratchet said. 

“Exactly,” Orion repeated. 

“And if I don’t do something, you’re going to get your dumb aft shot, aren’t you,” Ratchet said.

“Yep,” Orion said.

“Fine,” said Ratchet.

“Thank you,” Orion said gravely, and Ratchet huffed. 

“Don’t thank me yet, kid. It’s a long process, and it’s not a pleasant one.”

Orion had heard horror stories about reformatting before, and so he didn’t look quite as worried as Ratchet had evidently hoped, but he knew he was in for quite an experience.

* * *

Seven cycles conscious and without anesthetic as Ratchet rewired his processor and sensory input network to accept input from new components. Two more processing input until it stopped reading heat as pressure and pressure as pain, and another one after that just bending and flexing different body parts to make sure they moved smoothly. Then he spent a half cycle arguing with Ratchet about whether or not he had to be repainted—eventually he gave in and said yes, and Ratchet redid his paint job in black and red and blue—and then Orion finally stood up and didn’t fall over, which was a success. 

To be fair, his chest felt like there was a chunk of metal lodged in it, which there was, but after the events of the past ten cycles, it wasn’t enough to stop him. 

“Are you leaving now?” Ratchet asked, his concern belying the gruff words. 

“I have to,” Orion said.

“Not yet you don’t,” Ratchet said. “Give it a day for everything to integrate, Orion. At least. You don’t want to have your legs give out halfway to Kaon, after all.”

Orion conceded the point. “Alright. One day.”

“Two days,” Ratchet said. 

“I don’t want to leave them that long—”

“Excuse me, who is the medic here?” Ratchet said. “Me. I am. Not you. And I say you need two days. At the very minimum. Understood?”

Orion shrugged. 

“Orion,” Ratchet warned.

“I’ll stay for as long as I can, Ratchet,” Orion said. “But we both know that might not even be the full two days.”

Ratchet huffed. “I will chain you to the berth.”

Orion gave him a flat look, and he sighed. 

“Kid, I just want the best for you, alright? Even if that isn’t what you want.” 

Orion nodded. “I know, Ratchet. But I want what’s best for everyone.”

* * *

“We separate,” Soundwave said to the Seekers.

“Separate?” Skywarp repeated. 

“Split up,” Soundwave agreed. “So that we are all harder to find at once, and easier to reach individually.”

“Harder to blow up all in one go,” Laserbeak squawked. 

“Safer for all of us,” Buzzsaw agreed.

Thundercracker gave them both dubious looks. “Would the three of _us_ need to be separated, too?”

Ravage nodded. 

“It’s the only acceptable choice,” Soundwave said.

* * *

The next day, Orion stared down at his hands and thought about the past few cycles—the past few decacycles, even—and made a choice.

“Morning, Orion,” said Ratchet absently.

“Don’t call me that,” Orion said. “Call me Optimus.”

* * *

“Optimus Pax. Doesn’t have the same ring to it, honestly,” Ratchet said. 

Optimus shrugged. “I was thinking Optimus Imperator, honestly.”

“Very…militaristic,” Ratchet said.

Optimus shrugged.

Ratchet turned away, an odd look in his eyes. “I guess you really are one of the Decepticons, then,” he muttered. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ratchet shook his head. “Don’t let them change you too much, kid. You might have your spark in the right place…but there’s no guarantee any of them do.”


	21. Hollow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's an arc called Irony coming up in about five chapters, and yet this one is more ironic than basically all of ti combined. 
> 
> the title in my notes was literally "the gift of the Magi, but with more guilt complexes"
> 
>  
> 
> cw for self harm; Megatron is determined to escape and his sense of self preservation is in the dirt rn

Megatron stared down at his shaking servos.

Being that they were only servos, and under his tentative control again, for now, they didn’t really do much other than maybe vibrate at him a bit harder. 

Megatron clenched them, and they stopped shaking for a moment; then his wrists started quivering again, and his digits felt liket hey were closting weakly anyway, and so he put his servos back down and watched them shake.

Megatron considered whether or not it would be a bad idea to rip out his optics, and then decided against it. It wasn’t a solution. 

There wasn’t a fragging solution.

Orion was dead.

Orion was dead because he’d seen a fragging Senator, and then done what the fragging bastard son of a turbofox had told him, and he—

He’d—

He had killed Orion because a _Senator told him to_ , and that was the worst part of it. 

Would he ever get out from under their thumb?

No. The answer was no. How could he?

If they could control him and turn him on the people who mattered, turn him on the Seekers and the Decepticons and on _Orion_ , how could he ever—

He wasn’t worthy of his freedom. He’d fought for it, bled for it, but not enough. 

It wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t enough.

* * *

Optimus stared at the door and tried to think about what he was going to do.

_Megatron is a traitor. He tried to kill us. He tried to kill me._

_But I believed in him._

_I still believe in what he wrote._

_What he said._

_I don’t understand what made him turn on us._

* * *

Starscream glared at the window and paced a little and glared at the window a little more and then sighed and started pacing again.

The room was quiet.

 _Too_ fragging quiet.

` Starscream: Skywarp?`

`Starscream: How are you holding up?`

`Skywarp: Bored.`

`Thundercracker: Starscream, aren’t we only supposed to use this channel in emergencies?`

`Skywarp: Ravage is a no-fun little fragger.`

`Skywarp: Frag that.`

`Thundercracker: No, guys, seriously.`

`Thundercracker: It’s only a few days.`

`Thundercracker: Grow up.`

`Thundercracker: Stop using this channel unless it’s an emergency.`

`Thundercracker: Got it?`

`Skywarp: TC cracked?`

`Thundercracker: Skywarp.`

`Thundercracker: This is serious.`

`Thundercracker: Stop acting like a sparkling.`

`Thundercracker: Our lives are on the line. So are other mechs’.`

`Thundercracker: Do. You. Understand?`

`Skywarp:`

`Skywarp: Yeah.`

`Skywarp: Shutting up now.`

Starscream listened in vain for anything else, but there was only silence on the end of his comms. Fragging great.

Starscream paced a bit more.

God, he was fragging bored out of his fragging mind. He should have been glad that the other two weren’t fragging…bugging him, or something. But he could use a little fragging bugging. He was fragging bugged. He was bugging out. There was nothing to _do_.

Or, actually, there was plenty to do, but there wasn’t enough to _do_ , just paperwork and planning, and there was too much of that all at once, and Starscream just kind of wanted to lean against Thundercracker’s shoulders with his feet propped up on Skywarp’s thighs and relax for a little. He couldn’t focus. 

Not while he was alone.

Instead he glared at the window and fantasized about breaking it and running away. But that would make Soundwave upset, and Starscream genuinely didn’t want to upset the blue mech. He was good to Starscream and his trine.

He knew what he was doing, too, which was important, because Starscream was flying by the tips of his pedes and he had no idea what to _do_ , but he couldn’t _say_ that, because he had TC and Skywarp to think of, but they weren’t _here_ , so he didn’t have a reason not to break down, so he _did_ , but it wasn’t even fragging satisfying. 

So he glared at the window.

Primus, he was fragging bored.

* * *

Megatron twisted his arms again, ignoring the pain, ignoring the warnings, ignoring the slick violet energon that fanned out over the back of his servos and dripped like tiny flower petals to the floor. 

He would break the cuffs off.

He had to.

He had to do something.

He _had to_.

He owed it to Orion. To Soundwave. To Impactor, to the Seekers, the Decepticons. To everyone.

He had to.

He hadn’t done enough, had he? Well, frag it, he _would_. He would tear down the world. He would tear himself apart. He would rebuild himself in the image of something else. So long as they couldn’t control him, he would do _anything_. Sacrifice anything. He would not be controlled.

For now, the sacrifice was just that of his servos.

That was fine.

He twisted his arms again.

He would not lay down and die.

He twisted his arms again, harder, and felt metal give with a flare of the pain he wasn’t paying attention to and a flashing light on his HUD. One of the two sides of the cuffs had cracked, and the electric current pulsing through them fizzed and died. Megatron gritted his dentae and yanked harder. Half his right servo went numb. The cuff cracked a bit more. Only one of those things was relevant.

He would die in fire and with the bodies of his enemies around him, and when he did…

Well. Then Orion would be there to greet him.

* * *

Optimus had to kill Megatron.

There wasn’t anything else he could afford to do—Megatron was a massively capable mech and a threat that the Decepticons absolutely could not afford to have. He knew everything about how they worked, where to find them, how to handle them; and he was _clever_.

So Optimus had to kill him.

He had a chance, he hoped; Megatron doubtless thought he was dead, and even then he wouldn’t expect Optimus to be, well…

Ruthless.

 _I may as well call it what it is_ , Optimus thought grimly. _I have to be ruthless. I can’t afford to show any restraint, because he’s better than me. I have to rely on surprise at all costs. Or I’ll die, and that’s not an option._

His new plating may have been thicker, but Megatron had leveled an army. A bit of armor wouldn’t stop him.

Optimus looked down at his datapad and started to work on a plan. If his digits shook ever so slightly, well, there wasn’t anyone around to see that, and Optimus would deny it until he offlined.

* * *

Megatron’s right servo wasn’t functional any more, but that was fine.

His left servo wasn’t functioning well, but that was fine, too. It was fine. It was fine.

The cuffs were mostly off. That was all that mattered. That was all that mattered. That was all that mattered. He would be free. That was all that mattered. He would fight. He would fight. He would live. That was all that mattered. That was all that mattered. That was all that mattered.

And if he failed, then it didn’t matter, because he wouldn’t have failed, because he would be free, and that was all that mattered.

The cuffs snapped off, finally. 

He didn’t smile, and he didn’t hope, because that was irrelevant at the moment. All that mattered was the next step. The next step. Just to keep moving. Over and over. Step by step by step. Step. Step. That was all that mattered. 

He would fight. He would fight. He would live. That was all that mattered.

He would fight. He would keep moving. He would fight. That was all that mattered.

He was a gladiator. He would fight. That was all that mattered.

He knew this. He knew this in his every cable. He knew how this went. He knew this. He knew it.

And this time, the match wouldn’t end until he saw Orion again.

* * *

Optimus sighed and forced himself to stand up. It was time that he spoke to Ratchet. It had only been a day, but Optimus knew he needed to get moving at some point and sooner was better. Datapad in hand, he left the tiny storage room and peeked around the corner.

As luck would have it, Ratchet was _right there_ , so he saw him and paused in surprise for a moment. “Back in the closet,” he said eventually.

“I have to talk to you,” Optimus said. 

“ _Closet!”_ Ratchet snapped.

“ _Medic!”_ someone whose voice Orion didn’t recognize yelled from down the hall. “The frag are you _doing?”_

“Ratchet?” Optimus asked. 

“Get in the _closet_ , kid,” Ratchet said, and pushed past him towards the source of the voice. “Just a second, I’m getting a few supplies.”

“I have to leave soon,” Optimus said.

“Not with enforcers in the building, you don’t,” Ratchet said, and pushed him at the closet door.

“Enf—”

Ratchet slammed the door shut and wakled away.

* * *

“You aren’t leaving for another day at least,” Ratchet said through the door, “not at least until you’ve tried to transform a few times. We clear, kid?”

Optimus nodded. “Ratchet, can you make me faster?”

“Faster?” Ratchet repeated. “Faster how?”

“Faster to move?” Optimus said. 

“Orion—”

“Optimus.”

“Optimus, that’s a massive procedure. Not something I can do in a day. Not even in a week. You’d be out of commission for a long time.”

“Oh,” Optimus said. “Is there anything you _can_ do?”

Ratchet was quiet for a moment. “I have an idea,” he said eventually.

* * *

Not being cuffed was important, Megatron thought, watching the energon drip slowly down his arm. Because it meant he wasnt cuffed. There was still too many things in his way, but he wasn’t cuffed, so that was a thing, and that thing was Important for some reason.

Oh. Because he could use his servos. Which weren’t really responsive, but that wasn’t important, because of…some reason. Megatron was so tired.

His damaged servos were shaking again. Did it matter? Did it matter? Probably didn’t matter. Wasn’t important. Good to know. 

Everything could be divided into Important and not important. This was helpful. Winning was Important. Everything else was not. He just had to win. Because it was iportant. Winning was important.

He stood up, glared at the forcefield, sat down again, and thought for a minute or two or maybe ten or maybe two hundred and fifty, he didn’t know. Then he was closing his eyes, and the world was wrong, and he was doing the wrong thing at the wrong time and Orion, Oriom, Orion was dead, and he opened hsi optics again and stared at the wall. That wasn’t Important. His entire body felt cold, but that also wasn’t Important. Frag all of it. He wouuld get out and then it would be done. 

* * *

Optimus looked down at his glossy black servos, jets around them glowing red and bright.

 _These servos will be painted violet soon enough_ , he thought grimly.

* * *

Megatron looked down at his ruined silver servos, pitted and cracked and tinted violet from the streams of energon running down his body.

 _These servos will be painted violet soon enough_ , he thought. 


	22. Resolve

Soundwave set the last datapad down on the stack of other, identical pads on the table and pulled out a couple chairs. He waited a little bit, and then went back through his notes to make sure everything was in order before the seekers turned up. 

“You’re pacing,” Ravage noted.

“He does that,” Buzzsaw squawked. “He’s stressed.”

“I can see that,” Ravage said. “Soundwave, why are you stressed?”

“He has a war to run,” Laserbeak said dryly. “You would be stressed, too.”

Ravage gave Laserbeak a _look_ , pulsing annoyance. “I meant, Soundwave, why are you stressed _right now?”_

“I am not stressed,” Soundwave finally said.

“You’re pacing,” Laserbeak said.

“Ravage already said that,” Buzzsaw chimed in.

Soundwave resisted the urge to sigh. “The seekers should be here soon.”

“Right,” said Buzzsaw. “And?”

“And they tend to be somewhat loud,” Soundwave said.  “That does not mean I am stressed. I am just...anticipatory.”

“That’s a synonym for stressed,” Buzzsaw squawked.

“Definitely,” Laserbeak said.

Soundwave did sigh, quietly, behind his mask.

* * *

The first of the seekers showed up a few minutes later.

Blessedly, by then, the cassetes in attendence had finally stopped asking Soundwave if he was or was not stressed, and instead had moved on to more mundane topics. The birds were playing frag-marry-kill. 

“Soundwave!” Starscream said. The red jet looked absolutely exhausted. His scarlet optics were dimmed and he had a nasty looking scratch down the side of his helmet. Soundwave winced behind his mask at the storm of anger and repressed sadness emanating from him. “Is anyone else here?”

He meant his trine. He always meant his trine. 

“The other two are on their way,” Soundwave said calmly. 

“Fraggin’ lazy afts,” Starscream said, but it was fond, and so Soundwave didn’t bother to even comment on it. Instead, he turned his attention to the stack of datapads. 

“Take one,” he said, gesturing, and Starscream gave him a look of mild confusion and did. 

“What’s this?”

“Data and plans,” Soundwave said. 

“Oh,” Starscream said.

“It is too dangerous for us to gather without a reason,” Soundwave said carefully. “You know that. I’m sorry, but—”

The door flew open, cutting Soundwave off. 

“Screamer!” Skywarp crowed, charging at Starscream with all the subtlety and grace of a glitchbull. “Good to see you, my mech!”

Starscream turned to him with wide optics that he quickly schooled into an expression of mild boredom as he fended off his trinemate. Skywarp pulsed amusement anyway and did his best to hug Starscream, who, interestingly enough, was _also_ pulsing amusement. Soundwave would have expected irritation. 

“It was only two days, Skywarp. Calm down.”

“Aw, Screamer,” Skywarp said. “I missed you. I was _bored_.”

Starscream scoffed. “Go get a datapad, dumbaft.”

“You’re so mean to me, Starscream.”

“Only because you deserve it.”

Soundwave picked up a datapad and held it out over the table. Skywarp took it and shot Soundwave a grin, before going back to arguing without a hitch. “I’m a national treasure and you should appreciate me more. I can _teleport_ and I know where you sleep.”

“Why did you walk through the door, then?” Starscream asked.

“Presentation.”

“Of course.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t teleport, though,” Skywarp grinned. “And I heard there are some _great_ things I can do with vents and confetti if I can get you while you’re in recharge.”

Starscream faked a shudder. “Oh, Primus, remind me to never let you get me without Thundercracker. Frag do you want?”

Skywarp finally gave up on hugging Starscream and instead decided to lean on him. Starscream weathered this with a long-suffering air and a very warm set of feelings. Soundwave could bask in it for days, but there were more important things at stake than any of their happiness. 

“I was kinda bored,” Skywarp said. 

“So was I,” Starscream said.

Thundercracker poked his head in from behind the door and then stepped in.

“Thundercracker!” Skywarp yelled. 

“Warp!” Thundercracker grinned back.

“Starscream!” Thundercracker said, and crossed the room to hug the two of them at once. Starscream again made an impressively halfhearted effort to battle the other jet away, but Skywarp instantly latched on to the other mech.

The sense of uncomfortable wrongness that Soundwave had been picking up from the three of them for the past few days finally vanished, everything clicking into place as the three of them finally got back together. It was a shame that they would have to split up again. Soundwave didn’t want them to have to be so unhappy; there just wasn’t another safe option.

He held out a datapad for Thundercracker, who wholeheartedly ignored him for a moment and then took it.  “Thanks.”

Soundwave nodded. “We need to discuss defense.”

“Defense,” Thundercracker echoed. “What about infrastructure?”

“You were given details on infrastructure during your time away,” Soundwave said.

The three seekers met each other’s eyes. 

“Right, uh, that,” Skywarp said.

“I, uh,” Starscream said, and looked at his fellow jets again. “None of us did that.”

_Great._

* * *

“What are we doing about, uh,” Starscream said, checking his datapad, “this ‘Project Forging Chains’ thing?”

“Nothing. Not yet,” Soundwave said.  “That is a part of why we needed to meet.”

“Oh,” Starscream said. “What _can_ we do?”

“None of us noticed Megatron,” Skywarp said. “How can we even know if anyone’s been brainwashed?”

“We can’t,” Thundercracker said. “There isn’t any realistic way to manage that. “

“I doubt that,” Soundwave said. “It’s a long and difficult process. We can make sure no one had the opportunity to be brainwashed—”

“I don’t think that’s a good option,” Starscream said. 

“It’s the only one we have,” Skywarp said.

“— _or_ ,” Soundwave said, “we can focus on having smaller, modular sections that can control the damage no matter what.”

“So, basically already what we have,” Thundercracker said. “Cells working together.”

“Exactly.” Soundwave said. “But with enough information to know to keep their optics open. And pertinent information would need to be even less carefully controlled than it is now.”

“What about Kaon?” Skywarp asked. “How do we keep them from, I don’t know, blowing up our wall?”

Starscream shrugged. 

Thundercracker stared at his datapad.

“That’s a defense topic,” Ravage eventually said. “That’s to do with the patrols on important areas.”

“Then lets talk about patrols,” Skywarp said.

Soundwave tried not to sigh again. “First we need to decide on a solid policy dealing with brainwashed individuals.”

“Then lets talk about punishment,” Thundercracker said. 

“Punishment,” Ravage repeated.

“Do they get considered a traitor, an enemy, or neither? What can even be said for brainwashing victims—are they responsible for their actions while being controlled?”

“Oh,” Starscream said. “I think they’re a liability.’

“And?” Thundercracker said. “Do we help them? Kill them? Soundwave?”

“We should kill them,” Starscream said.

Soundwave considered this for a moment, thought a little bit more, and then shook his head. “We should ensure that the mechs involved in the project itself never come in contact with their victims, and they shouldn’t be held accountable for what they do under control.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Starscream snapped. “They’re clearly going to hurt us—”

“Not by choice!” Skywarp said quickly. “Screamer, you heard what they said in the reports. Megatron’s probably miserable.”

“He is,” Soundwave said. “I can still feel him.”

Starscream gave him a quizzical look. 

“I have not yet stopped being a telepath,” Soundwave said.

“Right,” Starscream said, pulsing little waves of unease.

* * *

“So, defense,” said Thundercracker, later, after a heated debate and a long argument. “We definitely need teams of at least four patrolling.”

“Four?” Skywarp repeated. 

“At least two in case of an attack, and enough that a minor attack could be simultaneously reported and repelled,” Thundercracker explained. “Soundwave, what do you think?”

Soundwave inclined his head. “I think you are right.”

“How many patrols would we need, though?” Skywarp asked. “I know in school, they liked to tell us that there should be one every half cycle, but I’m not sure that’s too many or not.”

“Depends on the structure,” Starscream said. “That’s good for the barricades, but if we want to patrol the city itself, then we need far fewer.”

“What about sentries?” Skywarp asked.

“Why are you asking me?” Starscream said.

“You got top marks—”

“In _physics and chemistry_ , dumbaft,” Starscream said. “Ask TC if you want tactical maneuvers.”

Thundercracker shrugged. “One every fifty metrons?”

“One every hundred metrons, at least,” Soundwave said. “We cannot ask too much ouf our people.”

“That’s not incredibly secure,” Thundercracker said.

“We still have advantage,” Soundwave said.

“What if they decide to attempt an aerial attack?” Skywarp pointed out. “I mean, we’re jets, we fly, but we’re not going to be able to hold off a full on squadron.”

“Then we should hope it doesn’t come to that,” Thundercracker said.

“Starscream,” Soundwave said. “Can you build weapons?”

Starscream’s entire demeanor pricked up. “I sure can.”

“Then you should focus on building anti-aircraft guns,” Soundwave said.’

Starscream nodded, grinning widely.

* * *

They were just wrapping up the meeting when the door opoened again.

Soundwave immediately pointed every weapon he possessed at the door; so did all three seekers. The black, blue and red mech stepping through the door looked familiar, but Soundwave didn’t think that Orion would have spent so long out of contact if he had the option. 

“Who the frag are you?” Skywarp snarled.

“Please, calm down,” Orion’s unmistakeable voice said.  

“Orion,” said Starscream. 

“It’s Optimus, now,” Orion said.

“You _were_ Orion, though,” Starscream said. 

“Yes.”

Soundwave would have missed it if he blinked. The three mechs immediately powered down their weapons and absolutely mobbed the mysterious mech. Between one vent and the next, Orion was drowning in seekers. 

“I’m really glad you’re alright, even if you look weird and dark,” Starscream said.

“I’m glad you’re okay, too,” Optimus said.

Behind his mask, Soundwave smiled.


	23. Orion Pax is Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im sorry i cant help lampshading Optimus Prime is Dead here
> 
> anyways. irony continues to be ironic, and will continue to be so until the Irony arc (starting in two chapters) ends. also starscream is an easily distracted fool and this leads to entertaining things a la Shakespearean tragedies, aside from the fact that no one is allowed to die yet

“So…you lived,” Starscream said, later.

“Yeah,” Optimus said. 

“How?”

“I have a friend,” Optimus said. “Ratchet, over in Rodion. He somehow managed to get to me fast enough to put me back together.”

“He did the paint, too?”

Optimus nodded.

“I like it,” Starscream said, pressing up against Optimus’s side a little harder. 

Optimus sipped at his cube of engex, and Starscream finished off his, and they sat in comfortable silence for a moment. And then, Starscream sighed and looked up at Optimus. “I still can’t believe it, about Megatron.”

It was like someone stabbed Optimus through the spark. “I don’t want to talk about him, right now,” he said quietly.

Starscream nodded. “Sorry, Or—Optimus.”

Optimus patted him on the wing and took another sip of his cube. 

* * *

Soundwave split them all up, gave them datapads full of work, and gave them small sections of the city to watch over. Optimus threw himself into the work with gusto. Every moment he spent drowning in datapads and helping people was a moment he didn’t have to think about how he would need to kill Megatron.

* * *

`Skywarp: You told OP about Megatron, right? The whole senate project bit?`

`Starscream: Uh…`

`Starscream: I got`

`Starscream: kinda thrown off track.`

`Skywarp: Soundwave was counting on us!`

`Starscream: Technically, he was counting on TC`

`Thundercracker: Leave me out of this. I’m trying to read.`

* * *

Optimus was halfway through the third datapad when someone knocked on the door.

Not loud, but very quickly, all at once. Something urgent. Optimus put his datapad to the side and was on his feet in an instant, running for the door. 

He opened it, looking out for any sign of trouble. Of course, he didn’t have to look far.

Megatron was staring right back at him.

* * *

`Starscream: Soundwave?`

`Soundwave: We should only be communicating in event of an emergency.`

`Starscream: I didn’t tell Orion about Megatron.`

`Soundwave: I know.`

`Soundwave: I will handle it. It is not pressing.`

`Starscream: Oh, okay, good.`

`Soundwave: wait`

`Soundwave: Never mind. This is bad.`

* * *

Optimus stared for a moment.

Megatron stared back. He looked terrible. His eyes were dimmed with exhaustion, and energon covered his hands and dripped to the floor. Optimus felt terrible for him. 

But he had to do what he had to do, so after a moment of shocked surprise, he brought a fist back and punched Megatron full in the face.

Megatron let out a noise that could only be described as a confused “gleck,” falling back for a moment. “Or—orion?” 

“I’m not Orion,” Optimus said, and kicked him in the chest. 

Megatron coughed, pulling himself upright with a force of will. “You’re not,” he echoed, and then suddenly lashed out himself. Even wounded, Megatron was a great fighter, and even unarmed, he was more than a match for an unarmed Optimus. Optimus took a hit to the face, another to the throat, and then managed to step back and inside. Megatron followed him, fists up, but Optimus used the chance to grab a weapon and he brought it around, taking aim as well as he could.

He fired.

* * *

`Soundwave: Optimus.`

`Soundwave: Optimus, stop.`

`Soundwave: Optimus, listen to me`

`Soundwave: You have to stop this.`

`Ravage: I don’t think he’s paying attention.`

* * *

Megatron let out another one of those almost painfully small, pained grunts when the first bolt hit him, and then immediately dropped to the ground, sending the second one wide. Then he kicked Optimus’s feet out from under him, and Optimus went crashing to the ground as well. He picked the gun up, pointing it at Megatron, but the silver mech reached out and yanked it out of his grip. The quick glimpse of his hands from up close was…disturbing. They looked like they’d been half torn off at the wrists. 

Optimus faltered.

Megatron elbowed him in the space between his helmet and his mask. 

The world beyond his HUD exploded into white sparks for a moment.

Optimus’s comm alerts went off, again, and he ignored it again, blinking to clear his vision. Megatron used his temporary blindness to gain the upper hand more completely, and by the time he could make out shapes he was pinned on the ground, one arm under his own body and the other pressed to the ground, and he had a gun pressed to his throat.

Optimus froze.

Megatron held him pinned.

Without shooting him.

Optimus waited.

He kept not being shot.

“Why do you look so much like Orion?” Megatron asked, voice low.

Optimus stared at him.

“Why?”

“Why aren’t you shooting me?” Optimus asked blankly.

Megatron looked down, uncomfortable, and Optimus twisted quickly to throw him off. Megatron’s grip broke almost instantly—his hands were damaged, _badly_ , and they didn’t have the strength Optimus expected—and then Optimus flipped their positions, pinning Megatron to the ground. Megatron still kept his grip on the gun, though, and he let off a shot in what could have been surprise but was more likely intentional. It hit Optimus in the shoulder. Energon sprayed the floor.

Megatron went limp.

Optimus’s comm went off again. Optimus ignored it, again. Instead, he pulled the gun out of Megatron’s suddenly-limp, crooked fingers and cocked it, pressing it against Megatron’s chest.

He didn’t want to do this.

But he had to do what he had to do.

His comm went off, and instead of just giving him an alert, the message scrolled across his HUD, covering his vision. 

`Soundwave: Stop!`

Optimus froze in surprise, and Megatron stared at him. Optimus ignored him. 

`Optimus Imperator: Soundwave?`

`Optimus Imperator: Why?`

`Soundwave: This is not what you think it is.`

`Soundwave: Megatron is not the enemy.`

`Optimus Imperator: He tried to kill me.`

`Soundwave: Irrelevant.`

`Soundwave: Do not kill him. Subdue him. I will contact you again after.`

Optimus went to ask him _after what_ , but at that point Megatron had evidently gotten sick of being ignored and started to try and writhe out from underneath Optimus again.

Right. Telepath. Optimus suppressed an unnerved shudder and moved to pin Megatron again. His shoulder wrenched, and his grip came loose; Megatron jerked to his feet, standing. “Who are you?” he demanded, wrapping an arm around Optimus’s throat. Optimus leaned forwards sharply, hoping to throw him off, and was gratified when Megatron let out another quiet _“ack”_ noise and let go. He spun, trying to press Megatron against the wall and trap him again, only to take an elbow to the face again and reeling back in surprised pain. 

“Who _are_ you?” Megatron growled.

“My—” Optimus choked, his vocal processor stalled after the last hit. “My designation is Optimus.”

“Would you _stop_ trying to kill me?” Megatron said.

“Only if you stop trying to kill _me,”_ Optimus said.

“I never started trying to kill you,” Megatron said. 

“You shot me in the spark!” Optimus snapped. “I’m pretty sure that was at _least_ an attempt!”

Megatron blinked at him. “You’re not Orion,” he said.

“I changed my name,” Optimus said.

Megatron gave him an incredulous look. “You changed your name,” he repeated.

"I changed my name," Optimus said again.

“You,” Megatron said. “I thought you were _dead!_ What the frag is _wrong with you?”_

“In my defence, I was trying to kill you,” Optimus said.

“You,” Megatron said. “You. I. _Orion_.”

“It’s Optimus, now,” Optimus said.

“That doesn’t mean you’re not Orion,” Megatron said. “You’re the same _person_ , and I thought I _killed you.”_

There was a disconcertingly hollow edge to that sentence that Optimus didn’t like at all. “Why did you do that, anyway?”

Megatron sighed, looking down at his mangled hands. When he spoke, his voice was even hollower than before. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

“I don’t know,” Megatron repeated. “He—the Senator—he told me to, and then I _did it_ , and,” he stopped. “I don’t _know_ , Optimus.”

“Then why did you come back?”

“I needed to talk to Soundwave.”

“That—Megatron, if _anyone_ saw you, they would have shot you! Are you suicidal?”

“I would have thought that was obvious,” Megatron said dryly.

Optimus stared at him.

Megatron shrugged. “Do you have a bandage?”

“A—”

“I’m getting energon on your floor,” Megatron said. “A _bandage_.”

“I have plastic tape.”

“Good enough,” Megatron said, straightening up. “Where?”

“You stay here,” Optimus said. “It’s in the berthroom, I was using it to fix a cracked datapad. Hang on.”

Megatron inclined his head, saying nothing, but as Optimus turned to leave he could see the former gladiator’s face fill with sorrow.

* * *

“How did this even happen?” Optimus asked, wrapping the thick tape around Megatron’s mangled wriss.

“I had to get out of stasis cuffs,” Megatron said.

Optimus nearly dropped the tape. “You _broke_ out of stasis cuffs?”

“It’s not like I had much choice in the matter,” Megatron said dryly. “It was that or be tortured again.”

“The whole point of stasis cuffs is that they _can’t_ be broken out of,” Optimus pointed out.

Megatron shrugged.

“Are you going to tell me that there’s a trick to it, or…?”

“The trick is to break the cuffs,” Megatron said. “If you pull on them hard enough consistently enough, then they break. It’s not hard to understand.”

Optimus shook his head. “That’s not possible, Megatron.”

Megatron scoffed and inelegantly changed the subject. “You need to wrap that tighter or it’s going to leak.”

“I’m wrapping it perfectly fine. I learned this from a medic.”

“I’m telling you, it’s going to leak,” Megatron said. “I’m running on fumes for now. I turned my self-repair nanites off to save energy.”

“Are you serious,” said Optimus, voice flat with disbelief.

Megatron shrugged. “Does that matter? Just wrap it tighter, Optimus.”

Optimus gave him a hard look. “You _turned off_ your self-repair nanites? How do you even _do_ that?”

Megatron shrugged. “I used to do it all the time in the mines?”

Optimus sighed. “Megatron—”

“Would you just give me the tape?” Megatron snapped. 

Optimus sighed and handed him the roll.

Megatron tore the strip off with his dentae, and then stuck another one down on top of it and pulled it so tight that Optimus would swear he could hear the durasteel of his wrists creaking under the strain. 

“That looks too tight,” Optimus said. 

“It’s _fine,”_ Megatron insisted. “The whole area is basically scrap, anyway. I can only move my first finger and my thumb.”

Optimus winced.

“Can you hold this for me?” Megatron asked, pulling off another strip of tape. Optimus nodded, grabbing hold of the sticky end; Megatron promptly rolled his wrist into it. There was an awful crunching noise.

“That’s definitely too tight,” Optimus said.

“It,” Megatron said laboriously, “is _perfectly fine_.”

“It _broke_ something.”

“That happens sometimes.”

Optimus shook his head. “We’re finding you a medic.”

“That was the plan,” Megatron said. “But that’s not pressing.”

Optimus blinked at him. “Your _hands_ are broken, Megatron.”

“I’m not going to die,” Megatron said. “You have a cold patch you can stick on the blaster hole in your shoulder in the meantime? That looks painful."

“No,” Optimus said. “What do you mean, it’s _not pressing?”_

“I’ve had plenty worse for longer,” Megatron said. “I spent a few decacycles where one of my arms very literally didn’t work because both the shoulder and elbow were dislocated, and the upper half was entirely missing any motor relays.”

Optimus winced again. “And no one did anything about that?”

“When they did, I killed everyone I could and came back,” Megatron said dryly. “It wasn’t that long ago.”

Optimus was confused for just long enough to remember that Megatron had been held captive for decacycles before they’d met. Right. “You mean, the senate…?”

“Saw an opportunity and took it,” Megatron shrugged. “They captured me mid-repairs.”

“That’s how they kept you,” Optimus said.

“Exactly,” Megatron said. “They treated me the same this time as they did last time.”

“But this time you were able to fight back,” Optimus said. “Right?”

“Precisely.”

“I don’t understand how they managed to get you in a cell in the first place, then,” Optimus said.

Megatron ground his dentae. “The blue senator told me to get in and put the cuffs on, and then I _did.”_

“Oh,” said Optimus.

“I still don’t know why I did that,” Megatron said softly. “I knew what was happening. I just…it just…” he took a deep vent. “I am going to kill him.”

Optimus nodded. “I’ll help you.”

“I don’t want you near him,” Megatron said.

Optimus shook his head. “I don’t want _you_ near him.”

Megatron glanced down at his hands again and said nothing.


	24. Scale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is kinda short but it took me forever to write.  
> feat: Drift

Proteus drew himself up with an easy grin. He had already won here—the rest of the Senate just didn’t know it yet. 

“So, my fellow senators,” he began, “you’ve all seen the success of my latest project—Project Forging Chains.”

There was a small round of enthusiastic chatter, and then Proteus raised a hand to silence them. “I know, and I agree. It’s a wonderful project, just wonderful. Does some great things. And that is why, in conjunction with the clampdown and some other anti-Decepticon measures I’ve planned out, which I’m going to talk about in a little bit, I think that we should expand the Project into a full subsection under the purview of the Institute.”

There was another, slightly louder clamor.

Proteus grinned. 

* * *

The motion passed almost unanimously. Though the voting process was meant to be anonymous, Proteus took note of the four names who had dared oppose him. He had eyes in every part of this building, after all.

These four wouldn’t be an issue for long.

* * *

“Drift, _where_ are you going?” Ratchet snapped. Drift froze halfway to the door.

“Out?”

“For the _third time_ ,” Ratchet sighed, bringing one hand to his forehead. “You should _not_ be throwing your lot in with the Decepticons, kid. Sit back down.”

“I’m not going to join the Decepticons,” Drift lied. Badly.

 _“Drift,”_ Ratchet warned.

Drift sighed. “Ratchet, I’ll be _fine_.”

“You’ll be arrested. Or worse.”

“No I won’t.” 

Ratchet sighed again. “I have better things to be doing than sparkling-sitting you, kid. I can’t stop you if you really do feel the need to sneak out and join the cons. But I am _telling you_ that you will regret it.”

Drift huffed and shook his head, and he reached for the door. “I’ll be alright, Ratchet. I’ll stay off the boosters and everything. But we both know the cons have the right ideas.”

Ratchet sighed. “The right ideas, maybe, but the wrong methods.”

Drift rolled his optics and strode out.

* * *

Drift made it halfway out of Rodion before he walked into anyone he knew, which was, of course, an issue, but he made it away from them in one piece, which was good, and then he managed to get on a train to Polyhex before he ran into any enforcers. 

Which was good, he figured, except instead of questioning him and then shoving off like usual, the three stony-faced mechs shoved him back and to the side, and shoved cuffs on his arms.

“Stop!” Drift said, almost frantically. “What’s going on? Let go of me!”

“We’re bringing you to the station,” the biggest of the cops said darkly. “Shut up, gutter trash.”

* * *

Drift got thrown into a cell with four other mechs. All four of them looked freaked out.

“What’s going on?” a very small mech in the corner asked.

“Shut up, slag sucker,” one of the enforcers snapped. 

“There’s no call for that,” the enforcer next to him said. 

Drift picked himself back up and leaned against a wall sullenly. His wrists were still behind his back. He was not pleaed with this turn of events.

* * *

“Yeah,” said Whirl, reading off of a datapad. “Looks like this says the new orders are just to arrest anyone who looks suspicious.”

“Suspicious how?” one of the beat cops asked.

“All it says here is suspicious,” Whirl said.”Anyone you don’t take a shine to, probably.”

* * *

“Enforcers of the law!” someone yelled. “Hands in the air!”

“What,” Ratchet said.

A red and blue painted mech with a bored look on his face pushed the door in and leveled a gun at Ratchet’s face. “Servos up, Decepticon sympathizer.”

“What?” Ratchet repeated. “Where the hell—”

“You treated this mech,” the enforcer said, pulling up a holo image of Drift. “And he’s a Decepticon. We’re bringing you in for questioning.”

Ratchet sighed. “I can’t be away too long. My patients—”

“Not your concern any more,” the enforcer said, a dark look on his face that Ratchet really didn’t like. “They’re being taken care of.”

“Competently?” Ratchet asked pointedly. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’re making a mistake here—”

“Oh, no,” The Enforcer said, and there was _definitely_ something dark in his voice. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

* * *

Drift watched blankly as another mech got thrown into the cell. They looked so out of their mind on circuit boosters he didn’t think they could even see straight, let alone be plotting any kind of subversion.

“Filth-ridden scum, the enforcer snapped.

“Slag off,” one of the other four of them said dully. 

“I’ll fragging shoot you,” said the enforcer.

All four of them instantly shut up, so much that the onlyt hing they could hear was the faint whirring of the fifth mech’s overtaxed circuitry as the boosters played havoc with his systems.

What Drift wouldn’t give for a hit right now…

* * *

They threw in two more mechs, and Drift recognized one and got the hell up off the floor where hed been sitting to stand on the opposite side of the cell. Anyone in their right mind would get on the other side of a small cell with Cutthroat in it.

Especially a Cutthroat as fragging mad as this one.

“I’ll fragging rip your optics out! Let the frag go of me! I’ll slag you! I’ll frag you up! Let me the fuck go!”

The enforcers looked vaguely amused.

The other mech they were dragging looked exhausted.

“I’ll _offline you_ , you slagging scrapheads!” Cutthroat snarled. “I’ll rip out your spark and shove it down your intake! I’ll cut off your servos if you don’t let go of me—”

One of the enforcers shoved him into the cell, hastily throwing the second one in as well, and then before Cutthroat could make a move for the exit, they slammed the cell door and locked it.

Cutthroat glared at the rest of them, and Drift tried not to shrink back.

 _“What_ are you all slagging looking at?” Cutthroat snapped.

* * *

The cell filled up disconcertingly fast. From what Drift could gather, they were going after suspected Decepticons—which, apparently, meant everyone the Enforcers saw. 

This was a slagging disaster.


	25. Irony: Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this took,,, So long to write. and it was all in the porn. BUT now you get porn, so dont complain.  
> anyways the end of this has soft fluffy megop stuff have fun
> 
> edit: something broke in this chapter sorry

The next time someone knocked on Optimus’s door, scarcely a cycle after he’d finished trying to patch Megatron up, it was Soundwave. The tall, composed mech brushed past Optimus and into the room immediately, not waiting on a word from Optimus, and Optimus watched him in surprise before closing the door carefully. 

“I have something important that you both need to hear,” Soundwave said. “Where is Megatron?”

* * *

“They called it Project Forging Chains,” said Soundwave to the both of them. “It is a…brainwashing project.”

Optimus looked at him blankly. Megatron, next to him, cocked his head. “Explain.”

“The Senate wanted something that would work like Shadowplay, but more subtle,” Soundwave said. “You were a…test subject.”

Megatron raised his optic ridges. “Test subject. I assume there’s more to it.”

“The trigger only works once,” Soundwave said. “Reliably, at least. Unless they get their hands on you again—”

“They won’t,” Megatron said.

“—you should be capable of shaking their control.”

Megatron let himself smile faintly. “Good.”

Soundwave inclined his head. “It was not your fault. The circumstances were extenuating.”

Megatron nodded. “Is that all?”

Soundwave was silent for a moment, and then he inclined his head. “Yes.”

* * *

Megatron sat at the table a long time after Soundwave left, staring at nothing. Optimus didn’t want to interrupt him. He figured he was processing what Soundwave had told him. 

Honestly, for his part, he threw himself back into the infrastructural work he had lying around on the datapads and tried to get as much as he could over with. He might have been trying to distract himself. He didn’t honestly think that the _why_ was all that important, though, so he didn’t focus on it.

Megatron was fine. He didn’t need to be so…emotional about that.

Besides, it really did need to be done. There was an energon shortage in Kaon, and they didn’t have any way to get more any time soon. The numbers were startling. 

He made it through three datapads, writing down answers on a fourth, before Megatron stood up out of nowhere and walked into the other room. There was a very loud crash.

Optimus put his datapad down and followed him carefully. “Megatron?”

Megatron was in the doorway, leaning on the wall idly, and he favored Optimus with an almost sheepish look.

No, that wasn’t—something was off about that, Optimus thought, and looked closer.

Megatron’s servo was embedded in the wall, like he’d hit it, and then gotten stuck. 

“Are you _joking,”_ Optimus said, voice exhausted. “Your hands are not functional enough for that.”

Megatron shrugged. “Sometimes breaking things can be helpful.”

“Breaking your limbs?”

“No.”

“Can you get your servo out of the wall, or do you need help?”

Megatron huffed and then yanked his arm away from the wall in one fluid motion; the durasteel buckled down on the suddenly empty space with an awful groaning noise. Optimus winced.

“There,” Megatron said, smirking.

“Your tape came loose,” Optimus pointed out.

“Slag,” Megatron said, looking down at his wrist. “Uh—”

Optimus sighed and grabbed the roll of plastic tape from under the berth, and then handed it to him. “Don’t break holes in my walls any more, please.”

Megatron sighed, pulling a strip of tape out with his dentae. He stuck the end of it to his wrist and then nodded, starting to wrap the tape around. “Alright. I won’t.”

Optimus kissed him.

Megatron dropped the tape in surprise. 

Optimus laughed, quietly, and then pulled away and picked it up. “Hold still.”

“I can handle the tape,” Megatron said dryly.

“You just dropped it,” Optimus pointed out.

“You surprised me.”

“And now I have the tape,” Optimus said.

Megatron arched an optic ridge at him, and then obligingly held out his injured wrist.

Optimus started to wrap his wrist carefully, expecting another comment about how it wasn’t tight enough, despite the fact that, no, it was plenty tight, but instead Megatron smirked. And kept smirking. Then he leaned forwards and kissed Optimus full on the front of his mask.

Optimus jolted in surprise and dropped the tape.

Megatron laughed and caught it. “So, you can handle the tape?”

“That’s— _Megatron,”_ Optimus said. “That’s cheating.”

Megatron wrapped the tape around his wrist quickly, and tighter than Optimus was all that happy about. “Fair is fair. You did it first.”

“That’s not how fairness works,” Optimus said.

“Oh, isn’t it?” said Megatron, and kissed him again.

Optimus’s fans clicked on. “Stop that,” he said.

“Is that really what you want?” Megatron drawled, and then he pulled back to press the tape down and tear the strip off of the rest of the tape. And, to be fair, that may have been what Optimus _said_ , but it wasn’t actually what he wanted, in any way, at all.

Megatron smirked at him again and held out the tape. “This is yours.”

Optimus took the tape. Megatron’s fingers brushed against his own, and a little jolt of static crossed from his servo to Megatron’s. “Thanks.”

Megatron raised an optic ridge. 

Optimus reset his vocalizer with a quiet click and went to stick the tape back under the berth. Megatron didn’t say anything, but when he straightened up, Megatron was smirking _again_. 

“What?” Optimus asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Megatron said, grinning even wider. “I was just thinking of alternate uses for that thing than as a storage compartment.”

Optimus’s fans clicked onto a higher setting. 

* * *

“You are surprisingly difficult to seduce,” Megatron purred, leaning over Optimus. 

“What?”

Megatron smirked, running a thumb over one of the ports on Optimus’s chassis. “I _said_ , this was surprisingly hard to convince you into.”

“All you had to do was _ask_ ,” Optimus said, squirming slightly under Megatron’s roving fingers. “I wouldn’t have said no.”

Megatron hummed, stroking his other hand along Optimus’s audial sensor gently and enjoying the way Optimus turned his head to press into his hand harder. “Oh _really?”_

“Why would I ever want to say no?” Optimus breathed. 

Megatron grinned at him and tapped his thumb on the port on Optimus’s chest. “Then, if all I need to do is just _ask_ …” he paused, mostly for the effect. Optimus gave him a vaguely curious look from where he was rubbing his face against Megatron’s other servo like an overgrown cat. “Open this.”

“That’s technically an order,” Optimus noted, but the port cover snapped open regardless. Megatron fought the urge to lick his lips.

Instead, he very carefully ran his thumb across the inside of the port, feeling sparks jump from the exposed internal wiring to his servo. Optimus let out a quiet, high-pitched whine.

He had a connector in his wrist, which was technically not a good idea to be pulling out, because his wrists were damaged, so while he foncisdered which of the other cables on his body were compatible with this particular port, he ducked his head to Optimus’s chest. 

“What are you doing?” Optimus said.

“Probably, something stupid,” said Megatron, and licked the port.

Sparks skittered across his glossa so sharply that at first Megatron worried that he’d damaged it somehow. His entire mouth took on a faintly buzzing feeling, like he had an electric current running through it. Optimus, underneath him, whined and pressed down harder against Megatron’s hand on his audials. “Primus,” he breathed, his voice almost a moan.

“Should I keep doing that?”

 _“Yes,”_ Optimus said emphatically.

Megatron hummed and swiped his glossa over the port again, noting with mild surprise that his glossa felt almost numb after the second invigorating explosion of sparks across its delicate surface. _I might have a connector that works in my chest housing somewhere,_ he thought idly, and then realized that it might not be compatible and went back to considering.

Optimus, for his part, whined and gasped and arched his back against Megatron’s mouth, pressing himself closer. “Megatron, I need—”

Megatron cocked his head, pulling his mouth off of the former enforcer’s port. “You need?”

“More,” Optimus begged.

“More,” Megatron repeated. “Well then. Open a second port.”

Optimus whined, and Megatron heard the quiet snickit-snick of another port cover being retracted. A quick glance didn’t reveal where it was; he figured he’d go hunting for it with his free hand, and pressed his faceplates to Optimus’s chest again. With the other servo, he reached down, feeling around Optimus’s plating. 

This may not have turned up any new ports, but it did make Optimus’s fans get even louder, and got his whole body to heat up, which was definitely good enough. He dug his fingers into the seams in Optimus’s plating and was gratified as the pace of his breathing picked up in response. 

“Megatron, _please_ ,” Optimus begged. 

Megatron scraped his dentae across the top of Optimus’s port and then looked up. “Hang on, Optimus. Hold on.”

Optimus whined wordlessly, arching his back against Megatron’s hands on his plating. Megatron considered this for exactly one half-klik more and then decided that self-preservation was for losers anyway, and unspooled the connection cable in his wrist. He figured Optimus was probably not paying attention anyway.

He wiped the energon that came with it off on the tape on his other arm surreptitiously and then plugged in.

The burst of energy against his sensitive jack made Megatron nearly offline his optics in sharp pleasure, but it wasn’t done. He couldn’t properly open the circuit yet. He bit back a whine and forced himself to clear his head. He was leading here, after all.

Optimus, though, Optimus whined, his voice high and needy; Megatron ran a hand over his chest soothingly. 

“Shh. Give me a cable.”

Optimus onlined an optic. “But—I don’t—what kind of port?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Megatron said. “I’ll make sure it’s compatible.”

Optimus released a cable from just over his port, and Megatron glanced down at the tip to discover it had a universal converter head attached. It would work with nearly any port. He wasn’t sure why Optimus had been worried. 

He opened the port in his own chest and jacked it in as hastily as he could without trying to give away that he was rushing just a bit, offlined his optics for a moment…and then opened the connection. 

Optimus’s mind, clouded with pleasure and agonizing want, crashed into his own inexorably. His love. His lust. Megatron couldnt feel anything that Optimus wasn’t pushing into his mind, but Optimus was sharing _all of it_. With Optimus’s side of the connection still closed, it was overwhelming, and for a moment Megatron felt like he was drowning. 

_Open the connection_ , he thought-begged-asked, and Optimus did, and Megatron fell into him with a gasp of pleasure he wasn’t sure if he or Optimus had made. 

Optimus’s mind was a whirlwind of pain and fear and grief and anger and sorrow and and and, and when he looked at Megatron he still saw the Senate, and Megatron’s spark ached in his chest; but to Optimus it didn’t matter. He could tell that to Optimus, it didn’t matter. Optimus loved him. 

It was a nice feeling, and he basked in it.

 _You’re in pain,_ Optimus thought at him. 

Megatron, who had carefully been ignoring that, sent back a wave of wordless reassurance. 

“No, don’t,” Optimus murmured. “Don’t blow me off.”

Megatron sent back reassurance, again. “I’m alright, Optimus.”

Optimus huffed a laugh, but he was in Megatron’s head; he _knew_ , he could see it, that this wasn’t the worst it could be, that it could always be worse, that Megatron was just glad it wasn’t worse. That it had been worse. Many times before. This was next to nothing, and—

Optimus’s sorrow broke across his subroutines and bled into his own thoughts. _It shouldn’t be like this_. 

_It’s not so bad_ , Megatron sent back. 

He could feel Optimus’s sad confusion roll through his processor like it was his own.

 _It’s okay,_ he insisted, running a hand along Optimus’s plating. When he found a sensitive spot, in the joints of where his thigh met his torso, it cracked through the both of their minds like lightning, and Megatron gasped, or at least he thought he did, with his face buried against Optimus’s chest in time with Optimus. Crackling charge leapt from his fingers to Optimus’s armor, and then—almost reflexively—Optimus opened up completely in his mind, firewalls rolling back to give him full access to every part of his partner.

Megatron was almost floored in surprise, which he knew Optimus could feel; then he was charging in to take what was offered him, all of Optimus, take everything that he wanted and everything he could— 

For one perfect, blissful moment, he could feel when Optimus stopped thinking and let himself just _feel._ All of his clouded horror dropped away. And then the feedback crashed over him and he lost control of his own processor, gasping and shaking in ecstasy for what felt like a glittering eternity and yet not long enough at all.

And then he came back to himself, somehow, even though he’d almost been sure, by then, that there was no coming back; and Optimus looked down and said mildly, “You’re bleeding,” his voice only just a little bit hoarse, and Megatron nodded and pulled his cable out of Optimus’s chest carefully before going to dislodge Optimus’s own.

Optimus blinked up at Megatron, eyes shining perfect blue in the dim light. “I—thank you.”

Megatron pulled himself up and kissed Optimus’s audial. “Don’t thank me.”

Optimus huffed, shuttering his optics in an expression of exhausted bliss that Megatron had never seen on his face before. “I love you,” he mumbled.

Megatron wrapped an arm around his chest. “I know.”


	26. Irony: Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this like a solid week ago. Enjoy, my lovelies.  
> Feat: no one knows what you mean, megatron, they don't speak monosyllabic

Megatron sat down the next day at the table and all but snatched the datapads off of its surface. 

“Are these sorted? At all? In any way?”

“By problem,” Optimus said. “Those ones to the left are the ones detailing the energon shortage, and the others are defense.”

“Defense,” Megatron repeated dubiously. 

“Yes.”

“Of?”

“The city?”

“Right,” Megatron said. “We’re going over _that.”_

“The energon crisis is—”

“Not something we can handle without Skywarp,” Megatron said flatly. “Let’s talk defense. So far, what do we have? Wait, no, hold on, we can’t do this like this.”

He stood up, walked over to the berth, and grabbed a whole bunch of random slag out from under it. The plastic tape. The tiny empty tin of rust sticks that had been there since before Optimus even got to the building. Three crumpled up pieces of scrap metal. What looked like a long-rusted, severed section of a finger. A couple twisted wires. A couple more boxes of datapads—those he put to the side. But the rest of it, all junk, he dropped on the table. “Alright,” he said, grabbing a stylus off the counter and opening a one of the pads to a map of Kaon. He sketched it out quickly onto the table, and Optimus immediately got what he was doing and grabbed the other working stylus to help. 

It didn’t take long; the map was rough and crudely drawn, but it was workable. “I guess that’s one way to make a strategy table,” Optimus said.

“Long as it functions,” Megatron said, grabbing the wires. “Put these things down as patrol lines. What does the wall look like?”

Optimus opened another datapad. “Uh—hang on, there’s one on the east wall and two on the west and south…” he said, placing wires down as best as he could, and then paused. “Can you look to see who’s handling the north wall? It’s not in Starscream’s report.”

“Soundwave would have given that one to Ravage,” Megatron said absently, and stared down at the west wall and the wire along it. “Is this in view of the mechs on the outside?”

“No idea,” Optimus said, shuffling through files to find Ravage’s most recent file. “This doesn’t say anything about the south wall.”

Megatron paused. “Comm Starscream; Soundwave will hear it either way.”

`Optimus: Starscream, do you know who’s handling defense on the north wall?`

`Starscream:`

`Starscream: I thought that was Skywarp?`

`Optimus: Can you add him in?`

`Starscream: give me one second`

`     SKYWARP has entered the channel. `

`Skywarp: Who pinged me?`

`     MEGATRON has entered the channel.`

`Megatron: North wall.`

`Starscream: Megatron!`

`Skywarp: What?`

`Starscream: You’re alive!`

`Skywarp: what do you mean, north wall?`

`Starscream: You’re here?`

`Optimus: That’s not important right now.`

`Starscream: Megatron’s alive! `

`Starscream: And free!`

`Skywarp: What do you mean, north wall??`

`Starscream: And back!`

`Megatron: Starscream, shut up.`

`Megatron: Who’s managing troop distribution of the north wall?`

`Skywarp: I don’t know?`

`Starscream: Wasn’t it you?`

`Skywarp: I was just doing supplies. Maybe TC`

`     THUNDERCRACKER has entered the channel.`

`Thundercracker: I swear to Primus and the Pit if you two are distracting me over nothing again`

`Megatron: North wall.`

`Thundercracker: I won’t be held responsible for ripping off your slagging wings`

`Thundercracker: what`

`Thundercracker: Megatron?`

`Skywarp: yeah hes alive`

`Starscream: Did you handle the north wall?`

`Thundercracker: I thought Starscream was going to handle it?`

`     RAVAGE has entered the channel`

`Ravage: State the problem.`

`Megatron: North wall.`

`Ravage: Handled.`

`Megatron: Yourself?`

`Ravage: Check the file.`

`     RAVAGE has sent a data package.`

`Skywarp: This is like reading heiroglyphics.`

`Skywarp: What the frag are you even saying`

`Megatron: Thank you, Ravage.`

The data file wasn’t one Optimus had seen on any of the datapads, and it was a deep analysis of the wall and how its patrols were being run. Megatron read through it quickly and then set it aside, picking up the last three wires and laying them out.

“The streets are a nightmare,” Megatron said, and then picked up a few square chunks of metal and set them up seemingly at random. “These are the checkpoints I passed; they were too scattered and all but useless.”

“I’m pretty sure that was Thundercracker’s work,” Optimus said. 

“Doesn’t matter much at the moment,” Megatron said, waving a hand. “We need to get it straightened out, as fast as possible. Here, can you tell me how many Decepticons we have to work with? I’m not even bothering to see what kind of slag the system in place now is.”

“Uh,” Optimus said. “A couple thousand Decepticons, close to two hundred fifty thousand unaligned mechs?”

“A couple thousand,” Megatron said. “A _couple thousand_ — you’ve recruited?”

“Of course we have,” Optimus said. “This is our city now, and they know it.”

Megatron grinned fiercely. “Give me the finger?”

Optimus did, suppressing a shudder at the long-dead, flaky gray durasteel.

Megatron put it at the drawn gate to the city. “Candy tin.”

Optimus handed him the still-faintly-sticky rust stick box, and Megatron put that one at the place where there had been a barricade last. “One every street?”

“Only for the first three rings back from the—” Megatron paused. “No. No. We’re doing this all wrong. Hold on a second.”

`Megatron: Skywarp. `

`Starscream: Ugh, shut up.`

`Starscream: slag thats not what I meant I thought you were skywarp`

`Megatron: If you read the message before you sent your own, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened, Starscream`

`Skywarp: uh`

`Optimus: Please calm down, both of you.`

`Optimus: Skywarp? We need to talk to you.`

`Skywarp: Is something wrong?`

`Megatron: Lots of things. `

`Megatron: But we’re fixing this one. `

`Megatron: Report to Optimus’s location.`

`Skywarp: I don’t know where that is.`

`Ravage: 34.120153W, 59.080233S`

`Skywarp: thanks Ravage`

`Starscream: What’s going on?`

“So, what’s the problem?” Skywarp said, walking out of the berthroom, and Optimus jolted in surprise and nearly jumped into the table, instinctively pulling a gun out of his subspace.

Megatron gestured at the table. “This.”

“A…table covered in scrap,” Skywarp said. “What the frag does that—”

Then he got close enough to notice the map, and stopped speaking. “What do you need me to do?”

Megatron grabbed the stylus. “Do we have bots with construction experience?”

“Yeah, some,” Skywarp said. “Plenty, actually. Why?”

Megatron grinned and started writing on the table again, drawing xs along the streets. “Here, here, and here,” he said, gesturing, “I want solid walls between the buildings. No doors, nothing. Same with here, here, and here. Preferably about twice as tall as a mech. Certainly won’t stop anyone flight-capable, but there aren’t too many flight-capable enforcers we have to worry about anyway, and most of the hard hitters come along the ground. Here and here, the same thing. Got that?”

Skywarp nodded, looking baffled. 

“Repeat it,” Megatron said.

“Anywhere with an X needs to be a solid wall,” Skywarp said. “I took a still visual of it.”

“Good,” Megatron said, and then started moving his stylus again. “These places,” he said, drawing ovals in alternate streets, “should be walls, yes, but with doors. Less secure, but easier to guard. Got it?”

“Got it,” Skywarp said.

“Over here and here,” Megatron said, pointing at two directly opposite streets, “leave them heavily guarded but open, and then,” he started drawing faster, little thin lines, “put quick walls in. So that it brings mechs _here_ ,” he said, and tapped the massive empty building at the center of Kaon, the one that had once belonged to the Senate. 

“Can’t,” Skywarp said. “We burned it down.

“Of course you did,” Megatron said. “Nevermind. Bring them _here_ , instead,” he said, gesturing at a different building. 

“That one’s under repairs after Rumble brought down half the structures in that section of the city,” Skywarp pointed out.

“He recovering?” Megatron asked.

“I didn’t think you were the one who put him down,” Skywarp said.

“I wasn’t,” Megatron said. 

“He’s recovering slowly,” Optimus said, “but he’s recovering.”

Megatron nodded curtly. “So we bring them here, then,” he said, pointing to the wreckage of the senate building again. “I guess it’s fitting. Set up walls all around, and then set up tents and offices. Soundwave!”

Both Optimus and Skywarp stared at him in surprise. 

“Make a broadcast that anyone with more than a decacycle’s worth of energon with them is welcome in Kaon,” Megatron said. “Right. That’s going to be a processing center. Got all that?”

Skywarp nodded. 

“Go tell anyone who needs to know,” Megatron said. “We are counting on you, Skywarp.”

Skywarp’s optics narrowed in determination, and then with a quiet vwop-vwop noise, he was gone.

“Now, about the patrols on this in the meantime,” Megatron said, “there are a few things we have to do…”

* * *

Soundwave was not in Kaon.

Soundwave was in Iacon. Senator Ratbat had summoned him, still operating under the false belief that Soundwave was his loyal pawn. Soundwave was not inclined to disabuse him of this notion, but the Cause came first, and so there was something that he needed to do in Iacon, while he had the chance. This was the best opportunity.

He endured Ratbat’s pontificating and barked orders and ignored them in silence as though he were listening; Ratbat assumed nothing was amiss and sent him on his way. Then Soundwave deployed Buzzsaw and Laserbeak, and steadily walked down the hall himself, and then he walked onto the Senate floor. 

Guards immediately ran to stop him, but Soundwave had planned this from the beginning, and so before even he could be reached he had a gun out and he’d pulled the trigger.

Upon the podium, Senator Proteus’s head erupted into a violet fireburst. He crumpled.

The entire Senate fell silent with horror. 

Then Buzzsaw cut the lights, and Soundwave turned off his optics, using Laserbeak’s eyes to guide his motion, and ran for it in the cover of the darkness. No one managed to stop him. 

He called his cassettes back; they came, and he tucked them into his chest compartment safely. 

`Soundwave: Skywarp, warp to my location.`

`Skywarp: You’re in Iacon?`

`Soundwave: Operation: assassination.`

`Soundwave: Target: Proteus`

`Soundwave: Objective: completed.`

`Skywarp: holy slag um`

`Skywarp: Right.`

`Skywarp: I’ll be right there.`

* * *

Zeta stared down at his datapad. 

`Zeta: Shockwave, is this true?`

`Shockwave: It is.`

`Zeta: Frag`

`Shockwave: You’ll be there?`

`Zeta: Of course.`

`Shockwave: Good.`

Zeta looked down at the datapad again. He felt like his reality matrix had fallen out of his head. 

_Zeta of Sistex,_

_You are expected in the Primal Basilica at one cycle from sunup._


	27. Irony: Relation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and this is where the arc gets its name!

Construction began immediately after Megatron finished planning it out. Optimus threw himself into the fray, helping to strip materials out of the wreckage and bring it to the bots working on the walls. 

And then they ran out of, of all the things, _rivets_. 

Now, they could build walls without rivets, and they could manufacture rivets, but both of those options required a lot more energy than just riveting chunks of metal together. And Kaon, under siege and without a means of producing energon, was desperate for things that did not take a lot of energy. 

They had tried for a bit. And then there was the issue with the welding torch fuel, and then the electricity going to the city had been cut…

And so they’d wound up here.

* * *

`Optimus: Which storeroom are we hitting?`

`Optimus: My team doesn’t see any identifying characteristics.`

`Buzzsaw: Check the map.`

`     BUZZSAW has sent a data package.`

`Optimus: Thanks.`

Optimus and his two Decepticon teammates were one of four raiding teams out at the moment, and they were…well. What they were doing was by no means a solution, he and Megatron agreed on this, but it was at least a stopgap matter to try and help their people and keep things moving along. They were striking government-held warehouses and taking energon and other supplies. 

Optimus wasn’t comfortable with it, exactly, but he understood. They had to do what they could. Their people were starving. The city needed to be made defensible. And if they’d had any other options, they would have taken it. 

Optimus pulled up the map on his HUD and then motioned silently to the left passageway. In the pitch darkness, broken only by the light of their optics, it was hard to make out anything beyond the different entrances.

`Redshift: Optimus, should we spread out?`

`Optimus: Yeah. Ping me when you find the cache.`

The two Decepticons under his command scattered down the hallway and into the massive, pitch-dark room beyond it, following the trail. Their red eyes vanished away and into the almost chokingly thick darkness. Optimus followed, stepping into the room. 

The faint pinkish glow of energon bloomed across the floor from under a tarp, but that wasn’t their goal today. 

`Highgear: optimus`

`Highgear: I think we have a problem`

`Highgear: I don’t think that we’r 01100101 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101111 01101110 01100101`

`Optimus: Highgear?`

`Optimus: Highgear, respond.`

`Optimus: Redshift, are you alright?`

`Redshift: I’m fine.`

`Optimus: Keep me updated.`

Optimus squinted, putting a filter over his optics to try and bring the room into better view, but there was nothing. It was just as near-silent as it had been; the only sound in his audials his footsteps. Something felt very off. 

`Optimus: Highgear, where are you?`

He picked his way carefully around a stack of well-ordered crates that appeared to, on closer inspection, house a rather large quantity of shanix. Also, not the goal, but Optimus considered tagging it for Skywarp to pick up for a moment before turning away and going back to looking for building supplies. He flitted from stack to stack as quickly and silently as he could, keeping his audials open for any sign of anything wrong, and heard nothing. 

He found a crate of soldering wire and tagged it with a blue, glowing sticker to the lid; then he stepped back and to the side to try and get to the next collection of neatly organized boxes and examine their contents when, from behind him, he heard Redshift’s voice say, very quietly, “Hurk.”

`Optimus: Redshift, are you alright?`

No response. Optimus wasn’t sure if he’d expected one. He unsubspaced his gun, dropping into a crouch. 

`Optimus: Redshift, respond.`

``

`Optimus: Highgear, respond.`

Dead silence. 

`Optimus: Skywarp, collect me and the marked packages.`

`Skywarp: What about Redshift and Highgear?`

`Skywarp: Where are they?`

`Optimus: Don’t you have a map with all of their locations?`

`Skywarp: I don’t see them.`

Optimus started to formulate a response, and then a heavy, thick thing dropped over his head and closed tight on his throat, forcing an exhale out of his startled vents. Before Optimus could even react, he felt an electric probe pressed against his backstruts—and then the shock tool was turned on, and Optimus, silenced, cried out and made next to no noise. He dropped, but before he could reach the ground, thick metal servos reached out to catch him. 

`Optimus: Skywarp`

`Optimus: abort mission`

Skywarp responded with something, btu the world was already swimming in Optimus’s optics; the world faded to black before he could even parse out the seeker’s response.

* * *

“Let me just get this straight,” Megatron said. “You assassinated Senator Proteus.”

Soundwave inclined his head. 

“Without warning anyone.”

Soundwave cocked his head, looking up at Megatron curiously, and then nodded again. 

“And you blew your cover.”

“It was worth it.”

Megatron bit back a sigh. “I’m not sure that it was, Soundwave. You had access to everything the Senate did. Ratbat trusted you. You threw it away.”

“He had you tortured and brainwashed, and he turned you on us,” Soundwave said calmly. “It was the right course of action.”

Megatron sighed, pacing the room. “Should the Senate decide on another risky and potentially extremely dangerous plan, we won’t _find out about it_ , Soundwave.”

Soundwave inclined his head. “But one of our enemies is dead. It was worth it, Megatron.”

“We have Skywarp. We have people who could have done it. Soundwave…” Megatron sighed. “We _needed_ you. We needed the access you had. You were our last eye into the Senate.”

“I—” Soundwave said. “Wait.”

Skywarp materialized in the floor between them. “Something’s gone wrong.”

Megatron gaped at him. 

“Explain,” Soundwave said. 

“Uh,” said Skywarp. 

Megatron metaphorically picked his processor back up off the floor, blew it off, and crammed it back into his head. “Skywarp, you had four teams to take care of. What happened?”

“Three came in fine,” Skywarp said. “Uh. One vanished on me.”

Megatron sighed. “Elaborate, would you?”

“Can I just send the comm logs?”

“Explain first, and then load them onto a datapad and give them to me.”

Skywarp nodded. He glanced back at Soundwave uncomfortably, and then up. “Uh. Redshift, Highgear, and, um, Optimus,” he paused, glancing up at Megatron. For his part, Megatron very carefully didn’t react. 

“Continue.”

“They lost contact with one another, and then Optimus unexpectedly told me to abort, before becoming unresponsive. When I went to the area, they weren’t there. No sign.”

“Get me that datapad,” Megatron said.

Skywarp went running.

* * *

`Buzzsaw: You’re looking for room S-2218, section B. Soundwave says construction materials.`

`Optimus: Acknowledged.`

`Redshift: Dark as frag in here. I can barely see.`

`Highgear: Redshift, comms only communications. We’re running quiet.`

Megatron scrolled down a bit. This was meaningless chatter. It wasn’t necessary.

`Highgear: optimus`

`HighgearL I think we have a problem`

`Highgear: I don’t think that we’r 01100101 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101111 01101110 01100101`

Megatron translated that in his head. _I don’t think that we’re alone._

` Optimus: Highgear?`

`Optimus: Highgear, respond.`

`Optimus: Redshift, are you alright?`

`Redshift: I’m fine.`

`Optimus: Keep me updated.`

`Optimus: Highgear, where are you?`

`Optimus: Redshift, are you alright?`

`Optimus: Redshift, respond.`

`Optimus: Highgear, respond.`

`Optimus: Skywarp, collect me and the marked packages.`

`Skywarp: What about Redshift and Highgear?`

`Skywarp: Where are they?`

`Optimus: Don’t you have a map with all of their locations?`

`Skywarp: I don’t see them.`

`Optimus: Skywarp`

`Optimus: abort mission`

Megatron had a very bad feeling about this. 

* * *

Optimus onlined in a cell. 

The only light came from the bright red force field gleaming along one side of the cell. It reflected on the smooth metal of the walls, on the words scratched roughly into the floor as though by someone’s fingers. Optimus’s black and blue plating were dulled by it, his red made brighter. It was an effect wholly reminiscent of someplace low and hidden; even the precinct back in Rodion had had better lighting than this. 

Forcing back a groan, Optimus pushed himself up to sit instead of lying with his face pressed to the metal. The cell was all but featureless save for the writing scraped into the floor. 

_You will be destroyed. I will break my chains and you will be overcome._

It didn’t mean anything to Optimus, not really; he turned and looked out at what he could see past the forcefield, instead. To try and get a grip of where he was. 

Outside, stretching away into the distance, he could see many more cells, same as his own. The long corridor was lined with them. 

All of them…

…full.


	28. Irony: Reduction 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> see there should be more of this, but i haven't written it yet. it's been like a solid twenty ish days since i updated, though, and i finished this part, so. here you go. have some robots preparing to beat the everliving shit out of other robots
> 
> today's episode featuring:  
> \- poor cover ups  
> \- questionable paranoia  
> \- fingers being stabbed into optics  
> \- extreme annoyance  
> \- accidental flirting  
> and more!

Megatron fought the urge to punch a wall and lost. Approximately another half a roll of tape later, he went back to his datapads. This was worse than unbearable. 

Optimus, gone.

 _Optimus_ was gone.

Soundwave couldn’t find him, because Soundwave said he couldn’t feel him empathetically and he didn’t have a way into the Senate’s databases any more. Skywarp couldn’t find him, because Skywarp had no coordinates. No one had any answers. 

So, as usual, it was down to Megatron to solve the issue. 

And so, while everyone else went to greet Rumble and congratulate him on his recovery, Megatron stared at reports from new arrivals and punched walls and drew diagrams and tried not to scream in frustration and took notes and yanked on his wrist wrappings and tried to figure out where the _frag_ they would have taken his Optimus.

* * *

“Megatron?” Starscream asked, leaning on the doorframe. 

Megatron, slumped over a table, did not answer.

Starscream picked up a pen and beaned it at Megatron’s face. It bounced off with a clank and fell to the floor. “Megatron?”

Megatron stubbornly continued to not respond. The gall.

Starscream picked up another pen and threw it at Megatron. It hit his helm and rolled off onto the table. “Megatron!”

Megatron steadfastly remained asleep. How dare he.

Starscream sighed, and went and tapped the gladiator on the olfactory ridge. “Megatron. Get up.”

Megatron turned his head slightly to the side and continued sleeping. The audacity. Starscream poked him in the optic. 

Megatron jerked awake, and _up,_ and before Starscream really even comprehended it, he was being flipped over the table, scattering datapads with his wings. The clatter was loud enough to wake the dead. 

“What the _frag?”_ Starscream squeaked.

“That’s my line,” said Megatron blearily, rubbing at his optic with his free hand. The other one was still wrapped around Starscream’s throat. Fragging great. “Did you stick your fragging digit in my eye?”

“No?” Starscream lied, badly.

Megatron stared at him. “Why?”

“You were asleep,” said Starscream.

Megatron looked even more baffled. “Right. I suppose you go around sticking your fingers in the eyes of any sleeping mechs you meet, then?”

“Can you get your hand off my throat?”

“Can you not stab people in the eyes?”

“In my defense,” Starscream said loftily, “I didn’t stab you in the eyes. I stuck my fingers in them. There’s a difference.”

Megatron sighed, withdrawing his hand almost reluctantly. “I suppose there is.”

Starscream sat up. “So. Soundwave said to tell you that you have to get your hands fixed, so we can go slag some assholes.”

Megatron stared at him blankly.

“Uh,” Starscream said, and poked at the fraying, faintly purple tape on Megatron’s wrists. Megatron flinched back in surprise and what Starscream assumed would have to be pain, because frag, it looked painful as the Pit. “This slag. Soundwave says you have to get it fixed.”

Megatron sighed. “Right.”

“Yes, right,” Starscream said, patting him on the shoulder and hopping off the table entirely. “Here. Come on.”

“No,” said Megatron. “I’m busy. We--”

“You are not,” Starscream scoffed. “You were asleep, for Primus’s sake. How busy could you be?”

Megatron picked a datapad off of the floor. The screen was spiderwebbed with cracks. “Very,” he said, turning it on.

“Nah,” said Starscream, snatching the pad out of his servos.

Megatron leveled a stony glare at him. 

“You can have it back after your hands are fixed,” Starscream said lightly.

* * *

“Would you just give me the damned datapad?” Megatron asked, studiously ignoring the feeling of someone rooting around in his internal circuitry. It was only a servo. It wasn’t that big a deal.

Starscream scowled. “No.”

“You said you would give it back when I got my wrists fixed. Are you a liar, Starscream?”

“No. Most _definitely_ not a _liar_ ,” Starscream lied, but he was grinning like it was a joke. Megatron fought the urge to sigh.

“Then give me the--”

“Your wrists aren’t fixed _yet_ ,” Starscream pointed out.

Megatron poked him, hard, in the wing. “My wrists are perfectly _fine_. Give me the datapad.”

“Ow,” Starscream said, and didn’t.

“I will keep poking you,” Megatron threatened.

“Oh, the horror.”

“Starscream, I’m not playing your game. Give me the datapad.”

“What, this datapad?” Starscream said, and then hid it behind his back. “I don’t have it.”

 _“Starscream_.”

“You can have it back _after_ , not during.”

Megatron glared at him. 

Starscream glared back. 

Starscream’s wings twitched. 

Megatron raised an optic ridge at it, not bothering to suppress his smirk, and Starscream—anyone slightly less mature than Megatron would say that he _pouted_. Admittedly, Megatron would also call that pouting. He pushed the datapad into Megatron’s hands, looking down in what could have been frustration but seemed like a childish fit of pique. “Have your slagging datapad,” 

“Thank you,” Megatron said dryly. 

“Break your fragging wrists again,” Starscream snapped. “See if I care.”

That seemed hardly fair. “Wake up with a finger in your optic, see if _I_ care.”

“Slagging afthole.”

“Immature afthole.”

Starscream huffed and stalked out of the room. 

“Interesting relationship the two of you have,” the medic said. “How long have you been conjunxes?”

Megatron stared at him. “Never?”

* * *

“I know where Optimus is,” Megatron said, waving a datapad in the air. 

“Why are your servos so shiny?” Rumble asked.

“Glad to see you’re doing better,” Megatron said. “And not half-dead. Soundwave!”

“He can probably hear you,” Rumble said. “You don’t gotta be screaming.”

Megatron shrugged. “I know where Optimus is, and it’s _important_ that we find him, so--”

“Soundwave said you knew where Optimus is?” Starscream said, skidding out of the hallway. 

“Starscream!” said Rumble. “You said you would bring me a cube?”

“Optimus,” Starscream said. “You said?”

“I know where he is,” Megatron said. 

“Where is he?” Starscream said. 

“Where’s Soundwave?” said Megatron.

“He’s coming,” said Ravage from the hallway, and then the catformer slunk into the room himself and jumped up onto the table. “He’s getting the Seekers. They had their comms turned off.”

“Why did they—?” Starscream said. “I told them to keep their comms on.”

“Clearly they didn’t,” Megatron said. 

“I can see _that_ ,” Starscream snapped. 

“Primus, would you two relax?” Rumble said. 

_“No,”_ Megatron all but snarled. Every optic in the room turned to look at him in shocked silence for a moment. 

“I mean…just for a bit? Come on, Megs,” Rumble said. “It’s… not like it’s changing anything—”

Megatron nearly threw his datapad at the cassette. “It’s making me feel better.”

“Uh huh.”

Skywarp warped into the room, froze, and then took four steps back so that he wasn’t between the four of them. “Uh—”

“Hi,” Thundercracker said carefully. “Soundwave—”

“I know where Optimus is,” Megatron said. “Soundwave told you?”

“Yeah,” Skywarp said. “Where am I going?”

“Uh,” said Megatron. “Not like that. Forging Chains has him.”

* * *

Thundercracker looked up from his datapad, again. “Are you sure—”

Megatron didn’t sigh. He _didn’t_. Really. “I’m positive.”

“Are you _sure_ you’re not projecting?”

“I’m _very fragging sure,_ Thundercracker.”

“I didn’t mean any offense—”

“I’m sure you didn’t.”

“But I just think—”

“And I’m telling you that I _know.”_

“This is personal for you.”

“It wasn’t not going to be.”

“But—”

“just get back to your research.”

Thundercracker sighed and did. 

“This is just like before,” Starscream muttered. “Except then, we had _Optimus._ And _Impactor.”_

“And access to classified information,” Skywarp added. 

“Shut _up_ and keep reading,” Megatron snapped.

“This isn’t going to work,” Starscream groused.

“I don’t care.”

“Frag you,” Starscream snapped.

Megatron turned back to his datapad, snapping back something on automatic. The room went still. 

“Uh. Sure?” said Starscream. 

_What._

He gave him a confused look for a moment. Skywarp laughed and then audibly turned hsi vocalizer off with a click. _What?_

“Uh,” said Thundercracker. 

“Get _back_ to your _datapads,_ ” Megatron snapped. 

The three Seekers scrambled to obey. 

Megatron mentally rewound the conversation in his head. What the frag had he _said…_

Oh.

_“I’d like to see you try.”_

…he sighed. He’d deal with… _that_ …later.

* * *

He found an inconsistency in the power reports for the neighborhood he was digging into. Then another for waste management. A poorly handled coverup for energon shopments. Another for medical supplies. Starscream took one look at the list he’d compiled and groaned. “Are you kidding me?”

“It’s a lead,” Megatron said. “The government is clearly trying to hide this, not a civilian, because—”

“Oh, no, it’s definitely a lead,” Starscream said. “But I should have thought of that.”

“You didn’t. Skywarp!”

Skywarp jerked in surprise and fell out of his chair, blinking blearily. Megatron had the impression he’d been asleep. “Me?”

“I have coordinates,” Megatron said. 

“I feel like a transport service,” Skywarp muttered. “Send me the information.”

Megatron did. 

Skywarp nodded. “What’s the plan?”

Megatron thought for a moment. “Soundwave, Starscream and I—and you—go to the coordinates. Then we find Optimus and you take us home. Good enough?”

“Yep,” Skywarp said.

“Great,” Megatron said, and ignored the fact that he thought he might genuinely shut down if he went inside that building ever again.

* * *

“This may not be wise,” Soundwave said. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Megatron said.

“You may have a bad reaction,” Soundwave insisted. 

“I’ll be fine,” Megatron said. 

Soundwave sighed. 

They walked into the building.

* * *

It was not the same place.

This was…

This was a nightmare place. This was a place where mechs came to be remade. Megatron stared, optics wide, at the sickeningly familiar sight of needle tipped digits, and the significantly less familiar sight of exposed brain modules. Next to him, Soundwave went very still and very tense, smacking a servo over Skywarp’s intake quickly. “Silence.”

Skywarp’s optics widened so far that Megatron could see the edges of the glass pane over the sensors, but he nodded. 

`Skywarp: Right.`

`Soundwave: SILENCE. Comm channels not secure.`

Skywarp nodded again. 

Starscream pressed his back to the wall and leaned against it. 

Megatron glanced through the room, seeing scenes of incredible evil everywhere he looked. And then his eyes caught on one mech in particular. No one special, with no outstanding characteristics, but everything in Megatron screamed that this was the biggest threat in the room.

It took his HUD a long time to place the mech, but when it did…

“We’re killing everyone in here,” Megatron said, pointing. “Except for that mech there.”

“What? Why?”

“That slagsucker—Trepan—he knows where Forging Chains is.”

* * *

Megatron glanced over, tried not to sigh, and mentally berated himself for never making sure that he could communicate with the seekers wordlessly. It hadn’t come up. 

Well, this was inconvenient.

He gave Skywarp a significant look, to make sure he was paying attention—he was—and then he tapped the palm of his hand and closed it. _Shut the exits._ He held up three fingers—one for each exit he’d noted—and then pointed at himself. _On my signal_ , he gestured.

Skywarp stared at him blankly for a moment, and then mouthed, “what?”

Slag. Okay. 

Megatron pointed at the door, mimed shutting a door, and then pointed at himself. He held up three digits again. Mimed shutting something again. Soundwave gave him a look that, despite having no visible vocal cues, distinctly conveyed amusement. 

Skywarp looked more confused. He pointed at himself, and then at the _floor_ , and then held up three fingers and picked up a gun—

Soundwave put out a hand to stop him from moving forwards. He pointed at the doorknob, held up three fingers, and then inclined his head at Skywarp.

Skywarp made an unmistakable expression of blank confusion. 

Soundwave paused, and then grabbed Skywarp’s servo in his own hands, and then—

Megatron didn’t know how to speak hand. It wasn’t ever relevant, because by the time he’d been able to learn from someone who knew it, he had a better system that worked from afar, and could be done with one hand alone, if needed. And could address multiple people at once. So he’d never really bothered. 

He was, however, peripherally aware of the fact that Soundwave could.

And, evidently, so could Skywarp. 

His eyes brightened in comprehension, and then he paused and tapped something out against Soundwave’s hand.

 _Movement will be loud_ , Soundwave signed to Megatron. 

Megatron nodded. _I know. Tell him to do it anyway, on my signal._

Soundwave went back and tapped his fingers against Skywarp’s hand again. 

Skywarp nodded, tapping something back.

 _What signal?_ Soundwave signed for him.

Megatron fought the urge to rub the bridge of his olfactory ridge. _When I start shooting things_ , he signed.

Soundwave inclined his head, positively radiating amusement, and passed on the message. 

Skywarp _did_ laugh, and had to smack a servo over his intake to stifle it. The clang made Megatron wince. 

Someone looked up.

Well, frag.

Megatron nodded at the two of them and held up his gun, trying to look calmer than he felt.

Skywarp warped away.

Megatron kicked the closet door out and started shooting.

* * *

Skywarp loved to fight. The dance of it, the knowledge that he was the _best_ , the feeling, the exhilaration—it never got old. 

This didn’t feel the same as a real fight. It didn’t feel…it wasn’t as…challenging. He didn’t think he liked it as much. 

But at the end of the day, it was a fight, and he threw himself into it and came out the other side victorious, and it still felt just like winning.

* * *

By the end of it, all three of them were streaked with purple, and even Soundwave had gotten in on some of the action. Of course, neither of them, Skywarp thought to himself, were still even equal to Megatron. 

He found himself fidgeting with his servos. He always felt like this after a fight, unless it was a really hard one. Like he was vibrating from the tips of his servos to the top of his helm. But they were standing still now. So.

“Megatron,” the mnemosurgeon they’d left alive said. He was sitting on the floor, aft in the massive puddle of energon spreading out on the tile. With both servos broken and bound, it wasn’t like he was going anywhere.

“You,” Megatron snarled at him. He looked like he was also barely holding himself still, and that made Skywarp feel a bit better about wanting to bounce up and down on the tips of his pedes. That said, Skywarp prided himself on being able to tell when he should maybe stay out of the way—he hadn’t gotten Starscream to kill him yet, had he?—and something warned him that Megatron was, um. Not very. Stable, right now.

He didn’t take a step back. He wasn’t a sparkling. But he wanted to, just for a second. 

For a moment, he thought he had something to say—but surprise and fear made him bite his glossa.

The mnemosurgeon, on the floor, tried a smarmy smile and fell short of the mark. He looked a too scared to manage charming. But Megatron looked at it and his expression, already hard, got even harder. Their captive stopped the smile and cowered a little bit. “I guess the personality adjustments didn’t take.”

Megatron’s eyes _flared_ , and then he took a step forwards. The mnemosurgeon scooted back as best as he could, optics widening. 

“That,” Megatron ground out, “is irrelevant!”

The mnemosurgeon vented for a moment, optics huge and panic-bright.

“We are here for information, Trepan,” Megatron snapped.

Trepan glanced aside for a moment, optics brightening even further to a panic-laced white, and then fading down to gold again. “I—information? I don’t—”

“On _project forging chains_ ,” Megatron said sharply.

“I…I don’t know anything,” Trepan tried.

Megatron _kicked_ him, hard in the throat, and the mnemosurgeon went sprawling across the floor. He spat out a glob of energon, coughing, and treid to force himself up again; Megatron ground his pede down directly into the glass pane in the center of his chest. “A _location_ , Trepan.”

“I don’t have anything,” Trepan said again. Megatron glanced over at Soundwave. 

“He is lying,” Soundwave said.

Trepan’s optics snapped up, wide and pure white with spark-deep fear once more. He looked from the furiously angry face of Megatron, to Soundwave’s impassive glare, and finally fixed his eyes on Skywarp. “No! I swear! I don’t know anything! You have to believe me!”

Skywarp gave him what was supposed to be a somewhat sympathetic look, but probably wasn’t. He tried to channel an enforcer from a holovid, or a private investigator, or something. “A bot like you must hate being in a situation like this. But don’t worry, Trepan. If you just give in, this will be far easier for you.”

Megatron snapped his head around to _stare_ at Skywarp, fast enough that Skywarp heard the actuators in his neck click with the strain. 

“Uh,” said Skywarp. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Megatron ex-vented. “Nothing. Trepan, _where is the project held_?”

Trepan squeaked. 

Soundwave grabbed Skywarp’s hand surreptitiously, and Skywarp nearly jumped out of his struts in surprise. 

_Go stand watch_.

Skywarp gave him a confused look. In the background, Megatron kicked Trepan in the face. _Alright?_

 _Outside,_ Soundwave tapped back. _On the other side of the doors._

Skywarp nodded, and then warped outside. 

* * *

The hall was silent. No clashing sounds of metal, no angry voices. The lab must have been incredibly well soundproofed. Skywarp didn’t want to think about why that would be. 

From here, on the glass panes in the double doors, he could see the whole room. Not well, of course—smudged violet fingerprints streaked the glass. It was sort of odd. He didn’t realize how many handprints there were. He’d really thought there was less of… well… that.

He looked over the twisted, slumped bodies pressed against the glass of the door he was standing outside of to look in on what they were doing to Trepan. It still looked like nothing, so he let his eyes go back to the hallway, watching for any sign of an attack. 

_A lot of the bodies seem like they’re in front of the doors_ , he thought unbidden. But that wasn’t important. Right. 

He warped to the next exit, glancing around to make sure there were no intruders. The hall was silent as the grave. Ha-ha. No pun intended.

The set of doors here was blocked by corpses from the inside; energon seeped from under the floor. Frag, that wasn’t a good sign. If anyone came down, they’d notice instantly.

 _The bodies are mostly at the doors_ , he thought again, and then physically shook his head to clear the thought. So what? It wasn’t important. Check the third exit. 

Again, nothing. No one and nothing. Silence reigned in the darkened hall.

This hall wasn’t the _same_ —it had—they looked like corpses, to Skywarp. Old corpses. Gray metal, dull eyes, stacked four deep against a wall. His skin crawled. 

There weren’t any purple smudges on these doors. 

He warped back to the first entrance. Nothing. 

He leaned against a wall and glanced back to see what was going on in the room. 

Megatron, yelling. Corpses at the walls. Corpses slumped against the doors. Trepan on the floor, optics wide. One broken. Soundwave, impassive, energon on his servos. 

Megatron picked up his gun and shot Trepan point blank in the face.

There was no fight. None. There wasn’t even a sound, out here. Skywarp felt a little jerk of nausea coil in the base of his spark at that. 

Megatron turned to Soundwave, mouth moving, but Skywarp couldn’t hear a single word. The two of them talked for a moment, and then Soundwave waved to Skywarp, and he took that as his cue to go back inside. 

“Take us back,” Megatron said, voice just a bit hoarser than usual.

Skywarp did.

* * *

`Skywarp: TC, I’m fine, really.`

`Thundercracker: Are you sure? You don’t seem alright.`

`Skywarp: Yeah, I’m alright. `

`Thundercracker: … you want to talk about it?`

`Skywarp: `

`Skywarp: Maybe later.`

`Thundercracker: Want me to get Star?`

`Skywarp: yeah. I think so.`

`Thundercracker: See you soon, Warp. `


	29. Irony: Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IM BACK AFTER FOREVER HAVE SOME FUCKIN FUN DUDES

“What’s your name?” Optimus hissed across the darkened hallway to the mech in the cell across from his. 

“Skids,” said the mech, pausing in his pacing for a moment. “You?”

“Optimus,” said Optimus. 

“Optimus as in used to be Orion?” Skids asked.

Optimus blinked at him. “Yes? How do you. How did you know that?”

“You’re Shockwave’s friend,” Skids said, rubbing at the replica Matrix in his cheek. 

Optimus nodded slowly. “Yes. Do you know him?”

“Yep,” said Skids. 

Optimus gave him a careful look, and tried to pick his words wisely, well aware that if anything made any sense, they were under surveillance. “Are you… one of his students?”

“No,” Skids said, nodding subtly. Which meant yes. “I’m just an acquaintance of his.”

“Right,” Optimus said. 

Skids started pacing again. “In the cell to your left is Damus; he’s a friend of mine.”

“Hi,” a voice said, invisible past the metal of the side of the cell.

“He’s good with machines,” said Skids. “And you’re good with people, right?”

Optimus stared at him, confused, for a moment. “You could say that.”

“You’re an important Decepticon, aren’t you?” someone else asked from down the hall. Optimus recognized the voice, but couldn’t quite place it. 

“Nah,” someone else said, and Optimus assumed he somehow explained, wordlessly, that that was Not To Be Spoken About, as the mech abruptly said _“Ohh,”_ and then fell silent. 

“Is that the one who got shot on holovid?” someone whispered, and then all of a sudden everyone was talking at once, hushed but still audible, and it was impossible to hear anything other than just the noise. 

And in the middle of that, Skids waved at Optimus, and mouthed, clearly, _“I’m a fast learner, and Glitch breaks electronics.”_

It took Optimus a moment to understand what that meant, but when he did, he nodded. “ _Thank you,”_ he mouthed back. 

Skids nodded and leaned against a wall, and the two of them waited for the whispers to burn themselves out. 

* * *

They grabbed Optimus and dragged him out into the middle of the hall the next day. Optimus kicked and fought, using all the tricks Starscream and Megatron had taught him and all the skills he’d already had, but he was only one mech and there were guards at every side. Eventually he was incapacitated and dragged away. 

Megatron had borne it for decacycles. Optimus could survive one day, he told himself. 

* * *

They left Optimus chained up in a dark dark room that smelled faintly of ozone and burnt, half-processed energon, and then they _left_. 

They just _left him there_. 

After ten kliks, Optimus’s shoulders had started aching, and after twenty, the faint screaming echoing from down the hall had cut off suddenly, and then there was nothing at all but to watch the gleam of light from around the door and wait in anxious fear. 

Frag, Optimus couldn’t do this. Who did he think he was? Megatron hadn’t been able to handle this. Megatron had buckled under the pressure of this place. What made Optimus think he could manage to bear up underneath it? He was going to die. He was going to crack. He was going to tell them anything they asked him and if they asked he would _tell them_ and he would betray his friends and his Decepticons, he just knew it, and that was the worst part, the fact that he _knew it_ and he still didn’t think he could stop it. His thoughts were a whirlwind of nasty code and bad patterns all tangled up on one another and he couldn’t snap out of it because he was _still chained up by his wrists in a dark dark room that smelled of violence and he knew it was only going to get worse from here on out_ —

Footsteps echoed in the halls. 

“You’re sure this is the one?”

“Sure as I can be, without Trepan, but the fucker’s gone missing.”

“Then call one of the other mneumosurgeons.”

“Can’t. They’re all busy. They’re scheduled cycles in advance, and it’s not slagging likely that this aft in here has information that’s still going to be good later.”

“You fragging kidding?”

“Wish I was, Boltshell.”

Someone sighed. “Guess we have to do this the hard way, then.”

“Come on. You know torture’s the least reliable way to get answers out of a mech.”

“Well. Maybe, but it’s still worth an attempt.”

“You do it, then.”

“Fine.”

The door swung open, and silhouetted against the almost unbearably bright red of the hallway was a dark-colored mech with pale green optics and some sort of long stick in one hand. 

Optimus’s sparkrate sped up. No no no no no no, no, no. Frag. No. This was… very bad. 

“So,” said the mech. “Your name is Optimus Imp—Imperat—Imperative? Something like that? Right?”

Optimus didn’t respond, and the mech sighed. “Are you? Yes or no, it’s not that hard.”

Optimus gave him a careful look, and then nodded. 

“Kind of clunky if you ask me,” the mech said, leaning the stick against the wall and then flicking on an overhead light. The pure white of it felt like vibroblades in Optimus’s optics. “Ever thought about changing it?”

 _What kind of a question is that?_ “Yes.”

“Can’t blame you,” said the mech. “I’m Boltshell, not that I’m really supposed to _tell_ you that, and I have to be honest—if I onlined with a name that pretentious, I might have jumped off a bridge.”

Optimus stared at him for a moment, and then shrugged. _Does he not know? Or is this some way of making fun of the fact that this is the name I chose for myself?_ “It’s my name.”

“Fair enough,” Boltshell said. “Listen, Optimus—can I call you Optimus?” At Optimus’s confused nod, he continued. “I have to ask you some questions, and either you answer me, and this goes well for both of us, or you don’t, and I’m forced to use my endoscopic claw over there.” He gestured at the pointy stick-thing in the corner, and Optimus tried to suppress a shudder. “Are you a Decepticon?”

Optimus looked down at the Decepticon badge sitting in the middle of his chest. _Is that a joke?_ “Yes.”

Boltshell paused. “Aren’t you supposed to deny that?”

“That seems like a lost cause.”

“Fair enough. Did you come from Kaon?”

Optimus paused. _They really don’t know. They don’t know who I am_. “Yes.”

“You onlined there?”

“Yes,” Optimus lied again. “Before you ask— I spent a couple vorns in Polyhex, but I spent most of my life in Kaon.”

Boltshell shrugged. “What do you think of this whole incident with the leadership of the ‘Cons?”

Optimus shrugged. “Guess they’re trying, aren’t they?”

Boltshell nodded. “Guess they are. Let’s get into the important stuff, hm? Why and how were you in that supply depot?”

“What are you talking about?” Optimus said. 

“We caught you, er, that is. The project caught you and your accomplices at a supply depot. How did you get in?”

“There was a door,” Optimus lied, voice dry. 

“ _No,_ really?” Boltshell said, voice thick with sarcasm. “I’d never have guessed. There was a _door_. Did you use it?”

“Obviously,” Optimus said. “What else were we supposed to do?”

Boltshell shrugged and conceded the point, which was good because Optimus was very rapidly starting to worry that he was going to get caught up in that part. “So were you the one in charge of this mission after all?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Our orders came from those flashy Seekers,” Optimus said, carefully not naming any names. “The Pit fighters.”

 _“Huh_ ,” said Boltshell, and then he stood up and grabbed the claw off the floor. 

“What are you doing?” Optimus asked. “You said if I didn’t lie to you, you wouldn’t need to use that.”

Boltshell gave Optimus a sharp grin that didn’t reach his optics. “I lied.”

* * *

“Are you alright?” Skids asked, after Optimus had been unceremoniously dumped back into his cell to bleed in relative peace. 

Optimus shook his head, forced a deep vent, and then sat up. “I still function.”

“Good enough,” Skids said. “Can you walk?”

Optimus considered the question for a moment, and then nodded. “Probably?”

“Great,” said Skids. “Glitch?”

Every light went out at once, and then, as Optimus slowly blinked and his optics started to adjust and he watched mechs rush into the halls, he realized what that meant. The force fields were down. _Every_ force field. In the entire hall. 

“Is that everyone?” he asked carefully, stepping into the crush of people himself. Skids and two others, a small yellow minibot and an empurata victim with a blocky face but repaired hands, came to stand beside him. “In the whole building?”

“I could only trigger the cascade for this block,” the empurata victim said, and Optimus recognized his voice as Glitch’s. 

“Do we have time to go back for the rest—”

“Probably not,” the yellow one said. “They’re going to come at us, aren’t they? We’ve seen this.”

“I’m willing to try,” Glitch said. 

“I’m willing to help,” said Skids. 

“I _want to help_ ,” said Optimus. 

The yellow bot blinked up at the three of them and then nodded. “Optimus, Skids, Glitch, right?” 

“Yeah,” said Skids. 

“I’m Bumblebee,” said the Minibot.

“Shall we?” asked Glitch.

And then the four of them ran off down the hall, at odds with the crush of running mechs, and somehow managed to make it past the throng of guards descending on the chaos. “I only have to touch one field. They’re all attached,” Glitch said in an undertone. “So let’s just go past as fast as possible. The more mechs we let out, the better chance we have at getting out ourselves. Yes?”

“Sounds about right,” Skids said, as they reached the second cell block, and Glitch reached out to touch it and Optimus stared in surprised shock as the entire row of cells went dark. There were more ahead, glowing with their fiery light, but this was a start. It was a hell of a start.

* * *

Somehow they escaped. There were still cells left closed. They couldn’t reach everyone. They didn’t have time to save everyone. But there were a lot of mechs running around, and that somehow made for enough chaos to just barely let them out. Scraped, banged up, and Glitch was sporting a blaster wound to the shoulder—but alive. And free.

Optimus pulled the four of them into an alleyway and then shouted, “Soundwave!” at the sky. 

“What are you doing?” asked Skids. 

`Soundwave: I hear you.`

“My friend is—uh—,” said Optimus. “Either a telepath, or he just has superhuman hearing. I don’t know which. But—”

“Optimus!” Skywarp said, warping between Optimus and the other three. “Soundwave sent me.”

“What,” said Bumblebee. 

“What?” said Skywarp. 

“Who—?” Skids said, staring. _“Skywarp?”_

“Oh,” Skywarp said, voice going flat. He didn’t turn around. “Skids. It’s you.”

“You know each other?” Optimus said.

“You,” Skywarp said, turning on Skids with a glare darker than the Pit. “You _afthole._ Why are you _here?”_

“Hang on,” Optimus said, pushing himself between the two of them. “You _know_ each other?”

Skids sighed. “Yes. He’s in my class at the Academy—”

“He’s the _worst_ ,” Skywarp snapped. “He calls me and T. C. names because we’re Seekers. And knocks our books over. I _hate him_.”

“Come on,” Skids said, smiling nervously. “I do that to everyone?”

“No, you don’t,” Glitch said. 

“We can’t stay here arguing,” Optimus said. 

“I’m not taking _him_ back with us,” Skywarp protested. “He’d probably sell us out in a sparkbeat.”

Skids stared at him in affronted shock. 

“Hang on, take us back _where_?” Bumblebee asked. 

“Uh,” Skywarp said. “Kaon? Obviously.”

“No, no,” the yellow Minibot said, taking a step back. “I’m not going there. That’s Decepticon territory.”

Optimus gestured between himself and Skywarp. “Uh. _We’re_ Decepticons?”

“That’s different!” Bumblebee said. “You’re… nice, and you’re like. Regular mechs. The Decepticons are scary. Their leaders, I mean. They’re not like us.”

Skywarp burst out laughing. “Can I tell him, Op?”

Optimus sighed. “Skywarp, would you please stop? Bumblebee, I’m—”

“Can I _please_ tell him, Optimus?”

“Fine.”

“He’s,” Skywarp said grandly, reigning in his laughter for a moment, “he’s Megatron’s third in command.”

“No way,” Glitch said. 

“I don’t buy it,” Skids agreed. “Isn’t that that Seeker? Your friend?”

Skywarp nearly snarled at him. “He has a _name_ , and it’s Starscream. And he’s not our friend. Starscream’s our _trinemate_ ,” he snapped. “And he’s _second_ in command. Wrong all around.”

“I think we need to leave soon,” Glitch said. 

The four of them ignored him. 

“You’re not one of them,” Bumblebee said. “You’re just a regular mech! You’re not crazy.”

“Decepticon high command isn’t some kind of circus,” Skywarp said sharply. “Are you kidding?”

“I think we need to leave soon,” Glitch said, louder. 

The four of them ignored him again. 

“Decepticons kill people!” Bumblebee snapped. “Lots of people!”

“They didn’t deserve to live in the first place!” Skywarp growled. 

“We did what we had to do,” Optimus said, “Skywarp, please calm down—”

“We need to leave!” Glitch yelled. 

Bumblebee stepped back, a worried look on his faceplates. “I’m not going with you—”

“I’m not taking Skids,” Skywarp said.

“We can’t stay here!” Glitch said. “Optimus, you’re in charge, right—”

“I’m not staying here!” Skids said urgently. 

“Neither am I, but I’m not going to the Decepticons!” Bumblebee said. 

“We _really need to leave!”_ Glitch said, trying to push the entire group of then down the alley. “We can sort this out later but we really need to get out of here _right now!”_

` Soundwave: were there difficulties?`

“Skywarp,” Optimus started again. 

“I’ll bring anyone but Skids,” Skywarp said. 

“We can get rid of him later,” Optimus said desperately. 

“No one’s killing Skids!” Bumblebee growled. 

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Optimus doesn’t even _like_ killing people!” Skywarp said. 

“Hurk,” said Glitch, and collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut as the telltale sound of blasterfire filled the air.

“Slag,” said Skywarp, and Optimus bent to pick their fallen comrade-of-circumstances up. 

“Skywarp, get us all out of here—”

“I’m not—”

“That’s _not up for debate!”_ Optimus snapped, standing up with Glitch in his arms and hooking his elbow through Skywarp’s. “ _All of us.”_

Skywarp gave him a betrayed look, and then, before the next volley of blasterfire started up again, grabbed onto Bee and Skids, and warped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: i have no idea what was _actually_ supposed to happen in this chapter because my outline only said "escaparoo" and nothing else
> 
> also fun fact: i read something about the groundframes classifying flightframes as military only, pretty much, in what i _thought_ was the Optimus Prime comics but am not sure.  
>  And another thing I read was about the kids in Shockwave's academy bullying Glitch and the flightframe students for being not-standard, which. not sure if that was canon at all. if you're a skids fan and you Don't Like That, uh. Sorry? He gets better. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~admittedly im not a huge skids fan, i never really saw the appeal of him outside of "ooh mystery" and the whole grindcore thing genuinely makes me sick so his characterization is probably somewhat off but fuck knows im not going back to find out what baby Skids was like~~


	30. Irony: Reintegration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glitch is offscreen being repaired, Skids is an enemy of just about all three seekers, and Bumblebee is terrified. What could go wrong?

“We’re not keeping him,” Skywarp said flatly. 

“You wanted to let them _kill_ me!” Skids protested. “Purple, that’s—”

“My _name,”_ Skywarp all but growled, cutting Skids off, “is _Skywarp_.”

“Who’s yelling?” Thundercracker called, all but flying down the stairs. “Is someone hurt? Warp?”

“T. C,” Skywarp said, gesturing. 

“Oh,” Thundercracker said, voice going strangely tired. “Great. Hi, Skids.”

“Uh,” said Skids, shifting on his pedes ever so slightly. “Hi?”

“I’m coming back with Starscream,” Thundercracker said abruptly. “I’m not doing this without him. We have more important things to do than deal with his fragging attitude.”

Optimus was starting to get the distinct impression he was missing something; Skids had struck him as nothing short of perfectly nice, but then again, _both_ his Seekers sounded like they had a problem with the blue ‘bot, and that wasn’t great news. 

“Come _on!”_ Skids protested, louder. “That’s not fair—”

“—Optimus,” Thundercracker cut in, and then gave Skids a shifty, uncomfortable look. Almost wary. Optimus had a distinctly bad feeling about that look. “Megatron asked me to grab you as soon as it was possible?”

“I’m going to bring Bumblebee and Skids, if that’s alright,” Optimus said, thinking out loud, “we have to do something about them, especially if Skywarp definitely doesn’t want to have anything to do with Skids—”

“We can get rid of him?” Thundercracker asked, voice suddenly hopeful. Optimus had a _very bad feeling_ about all of this. 

“We’re important now,” Skywarp pointed out.

“Do you know what Megatron wanted me up there for?”

Thundercracker shrugged. “Probably? To make sure you’re alright? I mean, we all remember what he was like when we got _him_ back.”

Optimus nodded. “Shame Soundwave isn’t here.”

“It’s funny you would say that,” Rumble said, stepping out of the shadows. 

“We’ve been standing here for like ten kliks,” Frenzy agreed. 

“Waiting for our dramatic entrance.”

“You’re not supposed to _say_ that part—”

“Shut up.”

“You’re,” Optimus pointed out slowly, “still not Soundwave.”

“His fault we’re here,” Frenzy said. 

“So he might as well be,” said Rumble.

“That’s not how that works,” said Thundercracker. “Don’t break anything, would you?”

“Us? Never,” Frenzy said. 

Thundercracker shot Optimus a look. “I. Alright. Fine. Optimus, with me.”

“Don’t let Skids or Bumblebee go anywhere,” Optimus said, and Bumblebee gave him a horrified look. “—just for now, of course. Until we can figure out what to do with them. Bee, it’s going to be fine, I promise. Please calm down.”

“You’re making us your prisoners?”

Optimus sighed. “Bumblebee. We just got back from a _brainwashing clinic—_ ”

“A _what_ ,” Bumblebee said.

“Primus,” said Thundercracker. 

* * *

Megatron looked—awful.

His optics were over-bright with exhaustion, the backs of his hands were strangely shiny while the tips of his fingers and his knuckles were scuffed to the Pit and back. He had a dent in his lip and another one on the side of his helm. 

But his smile, when he saw Optimus, was genuine as ever, and Optimus grinned back. “Megatron!”

Megatron wordlessly reached out, grabbed Optimus by the shoulder, and pulled him into a hug that made his back-struts creak. “You’re back.”

Optimus melted. The stress of the past week, the pain, the fear, it all faded a bit. He was with Megatron. Everything would be alright. “I’m back,” he agreed, face pressed to the space between Megatron’s shoulder and his neck. 

“I’m never letting this happen again,” Megatron said quietly, voice hard as steel in a way that was… reassuring, sort of, but also deeply discomfiting, and Optimus in surprise drew back to look at him. 

“I mean it,” Megatron said. “Not to you. Not to _anyone_. I’m not letting this slag happen.”

Optimus nodded, discomfort eased. “Yeah. We have to stop them.”

“We _will_ ,” Megatron said. “We know where they are now.” The discomforting tone—it was almost like he was speaking with a voice made of knives, Optimus thought, hard and strangely sharp—it was back in Megatron’s voice, and Optimus fought his own instinct to recoil. “I will _end them_.”

“We will,” Optimus agreed, still strangely nervous. Which was ridiculous. This was Megatron, after all. He was _safe_. 

* * *

“So,” Megatron said, eyeing the two of them. Bee and Skids both gave him equally dubious looks; Bee was afraid of him on the basis of that he was An Important Decepticon, and therefore somehow scary, whereas Skids was afraid on the basis of that he was Very Large And Clearly Very Strong. “You,” he said, pointing at Skids. “Why do all three of my lieutenants want you gone?”

Skids shook his head in denial, which was really not helping his case in any way. “It’s a misunderstanding.”

 _“What_ is a misunderstanding?” Megatron growled. 

“He’s mean to us,” Skywarp said conspiratorially. 

“It’s a _misunderstanding,”_ Skids insisted. 

Thundercracker shuffled awkwardly, and Starscream poked him. 

“He _is_ mean to us,” Skywarp said again. “He calls us stupid nicknames because we’re jets.”

“He said we should be full time gladiators,” Starscream said, optics narrowed, “because we’re jets, and we should really only be fighting. Because jets are _military class_.”

Megatron scowled. 

Starscream poked Thundercracker again. 

“He,” Thundercracker said hesitantly, “sometimes knocks my energon on the floor if I’m not keeping an eye on it.”

Megatron’s scowl went from stormy to thunderous. Skids froze. “I really didn’t—”

“We all know you did,” Skywarp said, turning to Megatron. “Listen. We aren’t keeping him here.”

“I agree,” Starscream said. “He’s bad for us. And he’s _not_ a Decepticon.”

Megatron nodded. “Starscream. What should we do with him?”

“He knows who we all are,” Starscream pointed out.

“A lot of people know that,” Skids said, starting to look distinctly worried. Bumblebee looked between them both, optics 6widening. Optimus could feel the balance of the room shifting, but not where towards, not yet. Something about this made him deeply uneasy. 

“He mistreated my trine,” Starscream pressed. Skids took a step back. 

“It wasn’t just me—”

“That doesn’t make it any better!” Skywarp growled. “That makes it _worse_.”

Megatron gave Starscream a considering glance and then went back to glaring at Skids. “I do not want you in my city,” he rumbled. 

Skids turned a desperate look on Optimus. “What about you. What do you—”

“You hurt my Seekers,” Optimus said, voice low with disapproval. “Over and over again. I will not let you stay here.”

“Skywarp,” Megatron said. “Can you deal with him?”

“Easily,” Skywarp said. 

Skids blinked. “You’re going to let me go?”

“Skywarp will get rid of you,” Megatron agreed.

The room let out a collective breath as Skywarp stepped forwards, a hint of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. He extended a hand. “I’ll be back in no time, Screamer,” he said, and then Skids took his hand and the two of them warped away. 

Bumblebee, now alone, blinked up at the two of them. “Uh.”

“Megatron, this is Bumblebee—”

“What,” said Bumblebee, voice suddenly an octave and a half higher.

“What?” asked Megatron.

“ _What_ ,” Bumblebee said, voice even more frantic. 

Megatron turned to Optimus. “What?”

Optimus shrugged, turning to Bumblebee. “What?”

Bumblebee gestured at Megatron, optics almost comically wide. “He’s _what?”_

“I don’t know what that means,” Megatron said, exasperated. 

“Seconded,” Starscream said. “What the frag is your friend even trying to say, Optimus?”

Optimus shrugged. “Bumblebee?”

“He’s,” said Bumblebee, pointing at Megatron. His servo was suddenly shaking. Of course it was. “He’s really bad news, isn’t he?”

Megatron gave him an almost incredulous look. “What.”

“Um?” Thundercracker said. “Optimus? I have a question?”

Bumblebee slowly started edging away from all of them. 

“Yes?”

“Why is he here?”

“He helped us escape,” Optimus said.

“But why is he _here_?” Thundercracker repeated. “You couldn’t have had Skywarp make two trips? You realize this is bad for our security, right?”

Bumblebee made a small squeaking noise as every optic in the room turned to look at him. 

“He’s tiny,” Rumble said. “You’re kidding. He’s almost as small as _me_.”

“And he just came from _forging chains_ ,” Megatron pointed out, leaning forwards angrily. “That might not _matter_ if he’s under orders to destroy without consideration of injury. He’s a threat.”

Bumblebee backed up further, and Optimus sighed. “Stop that, Megatron. You’re looming.”

“I am not looming,” Megatron protested, and stopped looming.

Starscream smirked. 

Bumblebee looked like he was having a hard time deciding if he wanted to be terrified or amused. “What are you… going to do to me?”

“To? Nothing,” Starscream said lightly. “With? Who knows.”

“Where’s Skywarp?” asked Rumble.

“Dealing with Skids, probably,” Thundercracker said. 

“Skids has been dealt with,” Soundwave said from the top of the stairs, and it was only with an effort that Optimus didn’t jump. Poor Bumblebee nearly fell over. “Bumblebee is far from a threat.”

“Who—,” said Bumblebee frantically. _“What?”_

Soundwave took a step down and into view. “We have more important things to discuss,” Soundwave said.

* * *

Skywarp came back with freshly scrubbed hands and smelling faintly of energon and gunsmoke. Optimus didn’t ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please tell me you Know what skywarp did  
> please  
> optimus does but he chooses not to see it, and since he's the pov character, it makes it Unreliable(tm)


End file.
